In Vain Pursuit
by Pirates on Horseback
Summary: [Burton style Movie Based] Katrina and Ichabod are to be happily married... that is if Ichabod would stop postponing the wedding! And finally when it looks as it they will get their I do's done, the unexpected and unexplicable happens....
1. Love Alters Not

Chapter 1 - Love Alters Not

Katrina Van Tassel stood anxiously at the window watching as the daylight slowly faded, sending the evening calm to Sleepy Hollow. The trees were silhouetted against the rosy sky, producing a peace that had only recently enveloped the town. She pressed her nose to the window, brushing back her pale curls, waiting impatiently for the sound of a carriage.

He was so slow in arriving! Closing her eyes, Katrina rested her head against the window pane, sighing to herself. Ichabod simply couldn't arrive fast enough.

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The carriage bounced unsteadily all the way down the pot-holed route to Sleepy Hollow. As the carriage driver whistled heartily, inside, Ichabod Crane anxiously sat. This trip was always tiresome, as were most trips. Returning to New York the first time when Katrina had visited directly after the horrors of the killings in her little hometown, that trip hadn't been quite so bad. He had been exhausted and slept most of the way. Now his only company was young Masbeth, and the darkening sky outside reminded him of the first time he had ever come to the little upstate village.

At last, Ichabod heard the "Whoa!" from the carriage driver, and young Masbeth poked his head eagerly out of the window.

"Sir! We've arrived!" the boy said, looking over at the constable and trying not to look too happy. Last time Ichabod had come to visit his fiancé, he had not been able to come, sick with a bit of fever. He was excited to once more see his home town.

"Ah," Ichabod murmured, jumping out of the carriage. In the far off, huge farmhouse, he could see lit windows and a figure standing in one of them, her long blond hair falling over her shoulders. Ichabod smiled. Of course, she was just as anxious to see him as he was to see her.

Katrina threw open the door and ran right to his arms, wrapping hers around his waist as she took in his scent. She buried her head into his chest, tightening her grip as her lips curled into a smile.  
"I thought you would never make it," Katrina mumbled into his overcoat. "I couldn't bear another night without you."

Ichabod's smile grew into a grin as he wrapped his arms about Katrina's shoulders.  
"Of course I made it, Katrina... I could not bear to know that I was leaving you alone for another night. It pains me to think that I have left you waiting, and alone." He brushed a hand lightly through her blond locks just as there was a voice from the door of the carriage.

"Sir? Do you mind if I..." Ichabod looked around at the speaker, Masbeth.

"Oh, yes, young Masbeth. You may leave." When the boy was gone, Ichabod looked down at Katrina seriously. "How are you coping, lodging in your father's house?" he asked gently, holding her hand lightly.

"It is bearable," Katrina replied as she fiddled with one of the large buttons on his overcoat. She cast her eyes down, only to lift them again to his with a shy smile. "It will be far more pleasurable now that you are here," she added, tugging at his hand. "We ought to get inside before you catch cold. The nights are a lot colder than you remember."

"Are they?" Ichabod replied, following her. "Perhaps that has something to do with it being winter now? Or maybe I am only missing those large fireplaces, and the warm kiss of a young woman that had yet to even see me?" They had reached the door to the house at the top of a few steps and Ichabod pushed it open, met with the flood of warm light from inside.

Katrina smiled as Ichabod looked around the little house. She leaned against his arm, pressing into his back slightly, allowing her breath to skim his neck. She was being forward, she knew this fully well, but she had missed him. She glanced quickly around the room making sure Masbeth was absent before she turned Ichabod around to face her, leaning herself back against the closed door.  
"If you are missing the warmth of a kiss, you have but to say so," she raised one eyebrow slightly, a playful smirk on her lips. "I am not sure, but I think that may be a matter I can rectify."

"And I am inclined to agree with you," Ichabod said, resting a hand on her corseted waist. He leaned in slowly, but to Katrina's dismay, his lips only landed on her cheekbone before he was pulling away again. "But kisses and that aside, Katrina... I imagine you want to discuss wedding matters?"

Katrina pouted as he denied her a proper kiss. Sometimes he could be so infuriating with his calm reserve. Katrina wanted to see what would happen if he was to kiss her, but she could see he would not give into her at present.

"Yes, wedding plans," she echoed, thinking out loud. "Well, everything is still set wonderfully from last time. As long as you do not have to go away again, I can foresee no problem."

"Yes..." Ichabod said quietly. "About that. Katrina, I am very sorry I had to leave. Urgent call to the city, you know. More superiors clamoring to know how I stopped the murders of Sleepy Hollow, and... well, Katrina, I suspect soon that I will be promoted to High Constable."

"Ichabod, not again!" Katrina cried out, closing her eyes in frustration. "Again? You are honestly going to stand there and tell me that we must postpone again?"

She left his side and threw herself in a most undignified manner into the nearest chair, setting her head in her hands. Again. This was all happening again. Sometimes she wished he had never solved the case of Sleepy Hollow. She'd be dead, most likely, but she wouldn't have her wedding postponed yet again. Ichabod was worth the wait, but the hassle would try the patience of a saint...and she was no saint.

Katrina felt hot tears course down her cheeks. She didn't bother to wipe them away. From where he was standing, he couldn't see. This was just so frustrating! Ichabod jumped slightly, staring down at his fiancé is surprise. What was she going on about? Then it occurred to him.

"Oh! No, no, Katrina!" He knelt beside her taking her hand and brushing his thumb over the engagement ring on her finger. "We are not postponing, not this time. I am going to make sure everything goes according to plan in two days time, when you are walking down that aisle... I am not leaving again, and when we are finally married, you can come to live with me in the City." He sighed and kissed the side of her head. "Katrina, I very much want this promotion."

She looked up, letting out a sigh of relief. She wet her lips, raking the bottom one with her teeth before meeting his eyes. 

"I'm sorry, Ichabod," she leaned forward to rest her forehead against his. "I shouldn't jump to conclusions like that."  
Her fingers intertwined with his, simply enjoying the moment.  
"I very much want you to be promoted too," she added without altering her position. "Just promise me that you will not work all the time. I can be rather selfish and I like the idea of keeping you all to myself as much as possible."

Ichabod's smile flickered over his features again, and he toyed with the ends of her white-blond hair.

"Of course," he said softly. "And once I am High Constable, I will be then one to make those calls. I could take whole weeks off of work for you, if you wanted..."

"You'd do that for me?" Katrina breathed against his lips, her fingers tracing his jaw line, brushing the tip of her thumb over his lips. Her lips parted at their own accord, her eyelids lowering.  
For some reason she hesitated. It wasn't that she didn't wish to kiss him. He'd always treated her like she was fragile, the most precious thing in his world, and this last declaration made her long to do so even more. She glanced into his eyes, trying to distinguish if she should proceed or not.

Ichabod peered at her, considering. It wasn't as though they had never kissed. In fact, they had before on many occasions, especially during the time of terror when the Horseman was on the loose. In addition, other inhabitants of the town had done things breaking society's rules on a much higher level. Why either of them were hesitating now, was beyond him.  
With a little sigh, he wrapped an arm around her waist and moved closer to the chair in which she sat.  
"Katrina..." he whispered. "We will be married very soon... and I am looking forward to it more than you can imagine, I think." He leaned into her, putting his weight on the hand he had rested on the arm of the chair. They were very close, and Ichabod couldn't help but smile.

Katrina felt a blush rise to her cheeks as she noted his response. She glanced down only for a moment before pressing her lips to his, almost toppling them both over in the process. She couldn't care less if they wound up in a pile on the floor...in fact, she didn't think that a bad idea at all.  
She smiled as she pulled back only to reclaim his lips at a different angle, her hand cupping his cheek and trailing down to his neck, urging him closer.

Ichabod almost laughed at the urgency of her actions. He crawled closer on his knees, and when he could go no further on the floor, he slowly started to climb up onto the chair. His fingers absently trailed over the corset of her dress as he deepened the kiss. Finally, he pulled away just enough to whisper to her lips.  
"My little witch and her white magic..."

Katrina greedily pulled his lips back to hers, her fingers tightening around the collar of his coat before pushing it from his shoulders. She fell against the back of the chair, fervently devouring his lips. She could feel her pulse race as she started to undo the fastenings of his vest. Her corset made her feel as if she would explode, her breathing was so erratic. Running her fingers through his silken hair, she pulled back to look into his eyes.  
"Ichabod..." she breathed, her lips parted as she searched his eyes. Taking his hand, she slid it further up her corset.

"Katrina?" Ichabod's tone was questioning, as were his eyes. After a moment's hesitation, he snuck his hand back to the stays of her corset and started to unlace them. He lowered his lips to hers for a moment before exploring down to the tip of her chin and along the bottom of her jaw to the top of her throat. His mind was spinning and he felt an unfamiliar tingling throughout his body. At last, all the stays of Katrina's corset were loosened, but now Ichabod bit his lip and pulled back slightly, looking down at her. "Are you sure about this?" he asked, his hand still resting over her chest.

"I don't believe I have ever been more sure of anything in my life," she breathed, arching slightly into him, shuddering at the contact.   
Tilting her chin, she placed a reassuring kiss to his lips before trailing her kisses down his jaw and to his neck. She ran her hands languidly down his chest, pulling the vest from him and untucking his shirt from his trousers. Fastening after fastening was undone, her fingers occasionally brushing against his soft skin.  
Her lips returned to his, kissing softly.  
"The question is," she murmured against his lips. "Are you sure?"

"I...," Ichabod stared, blinking. Then a nodded, coming to a resolve. "I'm sure," he finished. He wrapped one hand around her waist under the corset, and with the other, started to pull the corset off of her body, feeling his suspenders slide down his shoulders. He kissed her deeply, his mouth devouring hers and pulling her against him gently. In one movement, he had spun them both around so that he was on his back in the huge chair, her on top of him. He made a subtle little noise as he snaked up the hem of her chemise and ran his gaze over the porcelain skin of her abdomen. He shivered oddly.

Katrina heard herself moan lightly as his fingers ghosted over her skin. Her breath hitched in her throat as his lips burned against hers. Desperately needing to be closer, she pressed against him, shuddering as her chemise was gently tugged over her head. Her pale locks tumbled down around her as she lay against Ichabod's bare chest, her fingers trailing from his neck down his shoulder. She pressed a heated kiss to his chest before her hands dropped lower, her lips arduously seeking his again.

Ichabod's breathing quickened as he ran his hands lightly over her bare frame. His lips worked hers ardently and his legs tangled within hers. He groaned deeply, his hands finding the single tie of her skirts. He didn't even notice the creak of floorboards from the doorway.

"Erm... sir?" Young Masbeth stared over at the chair on which Ichabod and Katrina seemed endlessly tangled on. Ichabod didn't react at first having finished untying the bow of his fiancé's skirts. Then he froze, realizing just what he had heard. As if in slow motion, he turned his head around awkwardly to look at Masbeth at the door. He blinked, his jaw hanging, unsure of what to do.

Katrina's face went white then scarlet as she buried her head in Ichabod's chest, laying flat against him to give Masbeth less of a view. Of all the inopportune times to enter a room! She felt Ichabod's arms tighten around her as his fingers refastened her skirt.

Carefully, Ichabod slid onto the flood from between Katrina and the chair, quickly handing her her chemise again. He cleared his throat nervously.

"Ahem, young Masbeth... Can you...give us a moment? Please?" Masbeth nodded and left the room hurriedly, mumbling an apology. Ichabod sat with his back against the chair, elbows on his knees, and face hidden in his arms.  
"Should have locked the door," he mumbled.

Katrina hurriedly put on her chemise, glancing up only as young Masbeth left the room. She saw Ichabod seated dejectedly on the floor. Carefully extracting herself from the chair, she knelt before him, lifting his chin with her hand. Her thumb skimmed over his reddened lips before she touched them gently with her own.

"Ichabod," she brushed his disheveled hair from his face. "It's all right."   
When he didn't look in her eyes, she climbed into his lap, wrapping her arms tightly around him.  
"Soon we'll be married and young Masbeth will have to find someone else to bother...and I," she pulled back to look into his eyes. "I promise that our wedding night will make you want to take off those weeks from work," she finished with a playful smirk.

Ichabod couldn't help but smile at her, cupping her face in his hand and kissing the tip of her nose gently.

"Just being with you makes me want to take years off of work to be with you, Katrina." He pulled his shirt on over his head and then brushed her blond hair over her shoulder. "I'm sure we could even move the wedding to tomorrow, if you wanted. I could send young Masbeth out tonight to inform all of the guests, and my tomorrow afternoon, we will be wed."

Katrina's eyes widened as she smiled brightly.  
"Really?" she questioned. She simply had to be sure. "We could really do that?"  
She threw herself into his arms, hugging him tightly, not wanting to let go. "Ichabod, let's do it. We've waited so long and postponed so many times. I don't care if any guest shows up; I just want to be with you always."

"It's set then," Ichabod said, entwining his fingers into her hair and hugging her back. "We marry tomorrow at noon." He stood up, pulling her to her feet carefully. "Now, that being the case, you should get your sleep." He took her hands and planted a kiss on her forehead. "I'll be in my normal room, should you need me." Releasing her hands, he bent over to pick up his own vest and jacket, pulling them on. He made sure she had her corset on securely before her turned to the door. "It's alright, young Masbeth. You may come in."

The door creaked open slowly and the young man poked his head in, looking skeptical.  
"Beg pardon, sir. Miss." He shrugged and stepped into the room, closing the door behind him.  
"Not to worry. I need you to go out and deliver a message to all of the guests of the wedding. You know them all?" Masbeth nodded. "Tell them, the wedding date has been moved up. It is now tomorrow at noon, and if they miss it... Well, then they miss it." Smiling, he glanced at Katrina.

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At the eleventh hour, Katrina stood before the small mirror smoothing the skirt of her wedding dress. She couldn't believe she was finally marrying Ichabod. She laughed thinking what a nervous wreck he must be as he waited for her to walk down the aisle. In fact, she had some butterflies in her stomach as well.  
Carefully, she brushed back her hair from her shoulders before taking a deep breath and opening the door to peek out into the hallway.  
"Well," she whispered. "This is it..."

Ichabod stood that the top of the aisle, shifting his weight endlessly. He kept straightening out his vest and drumming his fingers on his leg, and this did not go unnoticed by the few guests that had showed up. Then, there she was. His bride was stepping onto the aisle, and walking towards him. Ichabod held his breath for a moment, and then sighed. She looked absolutely beautiful in that dress, walking towards him. Ichabod felt sweat trickle down his brow and he wiped it away quickly. It seemed impossible that someone standing completely still could trip, but it wasn't, for at that moment, Ichabod nearly toppled over, having to grab at the new priest to keep from falling on the ground. He stood up quickly, hoping nobody had seen this blunder, and straightened his vest once more.

She bit her lip to keep from laughing as she watched Ichabod nearly tumble over. The merriment that sight had drawn up in her was just what she needed to calm her shaking nerves. She managed to reach the altar and stand beside Ichabod as her trembling hand clasped his. She met his eyes and could see the nervous energy flooding through him. Honestly, she didn't know which one of them was shaking more.

Ichabod was about to open his mouth to whisper something to her before the priest spoke, when there was a shout from behind the wedding guests' seats.  
"Constable?! Constable Crane!!" A young messenger shout, waving a leather satchel through the air. He seemed oblivious to what was going on around him, and panicky. As he ran down the aisle, the guests looked around dumbly, muttering amongst themselves. Finally, he reached the altar and slid to a halt, but did not stop in time and ran right into Katrina, shoving her to the ground. "Constable Ichabod Crane?" Ichabod's already usually pale face went a little green.  
"Yes?" he asked, peering at the man.  
"Urgent message for you, Constable! From the burgomaster of New York City," the messenger explained. Ichabod cleared his throat.  
"It can wait. I'm... a little busy." He turned to help Katrina up, but the man grabbed his jacket sleeve.  
"No, sir! It can't wait. Very urgent!" Before he could help Katrina up, Ichabod felt himself being pulled to the side. The messenger opened his satchel and forced the letter into the Constable's hand. As he read, Ichabod's face slowly went more and more ashen.

Katrina could only stare wide-eyed at Ichabod as he poured over the contents of the letter. She glared at the messenger, mentally noting that she would seek vengeance upon him at her earliest convenience. She heard Ichabod breathe words that sent a shiver through her, making her almost forget being shoved to the ground:  
"No...," he whispered. "No, it can't be... He's _back_?!"  
A gust of wind blew her hair across her face, and by the time she glanced up to see him, he was gone.

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Quite forgetting what he had been doing, Ichabod bolted away towards the house.  
"Young Masbeth! Hitch up the horses and carriage! We leave for the city in five minutes." He ran up the stairs to his room and frantically started to gather his things. Clothes, books, ledgers, odd little mechanisms, and more were shoved into his bags in a matter of seconds. A minute later, he was almost leaping back down the stairs, looking panicked.  
"Katrina," he whispered. But there was no time. He had to leave, now. It felt odd, being in Sleepy Hollow, and having to leave for the city for this reason. Looking outside, he saw Masbeth finishing the final latch on the harnesses of the carriage horses. Hurrying forward, Ichabod tossed the bags into the carriage and looked around for Katrina. No matter what, he had to tell her... He had to take her with him to the city.

Before she even knew what was happening, Katrina found herself picked up and tossed over Ichabod's shoulder, her head smacking him right in the back.  
"Ichabod?" she questioned as he tore off back down the aisle. "Where are we going? What has happened?"  
He didn't answer her although she continued to question him vainly. There would be nothing to do but wait.  
With an unceremonious plop, she was placed inside a carriage and they headed off in high dungeon from Sleepy Hollow.

As both Masbeth and Katrina stared at him in confusion, Ichabod glanced out the window, trying to avoid there gaze. At last, he figured he could avoid questioning no longer, and he looked at his fiancé.  
"Katrina... he's back," he said quietly. "The Horseman is back... In the city. A..." he took out the letter and scanned over it again. "The wife of one of the mayoral candidates. Head missing." Ichabod gagged slightly, thinking of it. "I can't believe this... We thought he was gone for good."

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They were silent the rest of the ride into town. Katrina could tell Ichabod preferred it that way. The Headless Horseman was back...she couldn't even begin to imagine how their lives would change. Her thoughts drifted to the mayoral candidate who lost his wife. How odd that he would lose his wife the same hour she was about to become Ichabod's...  
They finally arrived in the City, and stepped onto the sidewalk. Katrina didn't look at anyone, knowing how out of place they looked in wedding attire.  
She followed Ichabod into the police station.  
"Hello, Constable Crane," a lower level constable greeted him. "I do apologize for calling you away so abruptly. I do hope your wife can forgive me," the young man looked beseechingly at Katrina.  
"I will not hold a grudge because you must follow orders," Katrina answered quietly, glancing up at Ichabod wondering if she should correct the constable on his presumption that they made it through the ceremony.

Ichabod, however, shook his head at her, holding onto her wrist lightly. Then he turned back to the other constable, squinting slightly.

"Can I trust you to take Miss Va-" He paused, thinking for a moment, and then corrected himself, "Mrs. Crane, to my house?"  
"Of course, Constable," the officer said, nodding quickly. Ichabod looked at Katrina.  
"When you get there, lock the door. Go upstairs, and hide somewhere. Lock as many doors and windows as you can find. Do you understand?"

"Come home soon, darling," she kissed him quickly, fully prepared to abide by his instructions. "I won't be able to rest if you're out there with that creature."

When Katrina and the lower-ranked officer were gone, Ichabod stood straighter and marched into the magistrate's office.  
"Sir, I..." he trailed off, realizing that the office was empty. He frowned, turned around and left the police station. Where was everybody? The streets seemed deserted, and suddenly very dark. A shiver went through his spine and he stepped back into the station closing the door hurriedly and locking it. Then something happened that nearly made him scream. A large, gloved hand grabbed his shoulder, spinning him around. Ichabod closed his eyes tight for a second, his heartbeat quickening, and he fainted.


	2. O Weary Night!

Chapter Two - O Weary Night!

"Crane... Crane?" A strong hand smacked Ichabod in the face. His disembodied face. Ichabod groaned. Having a head with no body would be rather a drag.  
"Constable Crane!" the voice said again. Slowly, Ichabod pried his eyes open and peered up at the man standing above him. His head, in fact, was still very firmly attached to his neck and he was lying in one piece beside the door of the police station. Above him, the magistrate was kneeling down, staring at him  
"Are you alright, Constable?" the magistrate asked as Ichabod sat up, rubbing the back of his head.

"I'm fine..." Ichabod muttered, climbing to his feet. "What happened?"

"Well, I noticed you standing here and you fainted when I came to talk to you..." The magistrate raised an eyebrow, shaking his head. "You reported to me this... Horseman was gone for good. Now he is in the city." She led Ichabod over to his office and took out a small stack of papers. "Accounts of citizens around the same time of the murder... Happened in Manhattan, about midtown..." He sighed. "You better solve this quick, Crane. Or I'm afraid you're out of the promotion."  
Ichabod clenched his teeth. It wasn't his fault someone else had figured out how to control that monster... Now all he supposed he had to do was figure out whom it was and return the head once more to its rightful grave... Plus, he needed to once and for all get through the marriage ceremony. Katrina was going to kill him when he got home.

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Once he had received the address to the location of the murder, Ichabod took a spare lamp as well was a loaded pistol from the station and headed that way, quickly followed by young Masbeth, eager to practice more of being a Constable. When they arrived at the site, a small crowd had forms, buzzing with gossip. Ichabod made a face as he saw husbands and wives; mothers followed by their little children, even an elderly old woman, staring down at the bloodied, headless body. He gagged as he bent down and examine the neck of the victim, wishing very much that the people would leave. It was all the same. Cauterized flesh, with no burns or scorching and a single powerful thrust to the neck. He had no doubt it was the Horseman. Standing up, Ichabod headed to a lower ranking constable not too far off. Leaning close, he muttered to the man.  
"This is the wife of candidate Stephen Greene, no?" he asked; the officer nodded, but seemed afraid to open his mouth. He did look very pale himself. "And... where is Mr. Greene?" Ichabod went one.  
Trembling slightly, looking ill, the officer looked at Ichabod unhappily.  
"He... He left. 'Bout four hours ago... sobbin'." The officer blanched further. "I've been standin' 'ere for six hours now, sir... Can' I go now?" Ichabod nodded, sending the officer off, looking thoughtful. His hand at his chin, he paced back and forth, thinking, as the surrounding crowd thinned and finally only to officers were left standing there.

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Tears coursed down her cheeks as she stared off into the waning light. Streetlamps were being illuminated and passersby were heading into their respective homes for the evening. She had run as quickly as her feet could carry her.  
Katrina had been escorted home by a lower level constable in the city force when Anabelle had turned up on the doorstep with a housewarming gift for the happy couple. Upon hearing news of the Headless Horseman, she grew anxious for her cousin's safety. Desperate to be of service, she asked what Katrina needed to pass the night and after receiving a small list, she dashed off to the market, leaving Katrina in the care of the constable.  
However, when she arrived back with the few parcels, she found the door off its hinges and the house in complete disarray. Papers, books, random articles were strewn all over the floor. Furniture was ruined and overturned. Anabelle dropped her packages and just stared sinking onto the stoop in complete shock. In the meantime, she mourned the loss of her cousin. Surely the Horseman had taken her.  
The engagement ring Ichabod had given her gleamed from the floor of the antechamber, catching the light of the setting sun.

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It was going to be a long night. Back at the station, it was decided among the higher-ranked constables that a watch was to be installed about Manhattan. There would be five men out at once, each scanning the streets of the inner city for hour shifts. Then, five new men would be sent upon the return of the first five. When the first group had been assigned to streets and sent out, Ichabod sat heavily into and chair, massaging his temples, his dark brown eyes shut tight. Pain pulsed through his head, a sharp aching, making him a little ill.

"Constable Crane? Are you alright?" a fellow officer asked, raising an eyebrow at him.  
"Yes... I'm fine," Ichabod murmured quietly. He stood from his seat and furrowed his eyebrows. "I am taking next shift, but I need to go check on Katrina... I will be back before first shift is over." Once more taking a pistol and lantern, Ichabod left the station and headed for his new house, the one he had wanted to surprise Katrina with.

When Ichabod looked up the steps of the new city home, his stomach twisted into an unbelievable know. The door was dangling from its hinges and there were horrid scratches in the paint and wood of the doorframe. He feared the worst, but then, there came the sound of sobbing from inside the house.  
"Katrina," Ichabod whispered. His eyes grew wide with hope, and he dashed up the stairs to the antechamber. "Katrina?!"

She started at the sound of a man's voice calling out in the darkening night. Her feet were rooted to the floorboards. Surely she would have to explain what happened and that was something she did not know. Panic coursed through her as her deep brown eyes widened. She felt a cold hand touch her shoulder, only making her body paralyzed and her heart pound in her ears.

Ichabod's heart plummeted to his stomach as he realized it was a brown-haired figure standing before him, not Katrina. He, too, felt panic welling in him.  
"Anabelle?" he said, shocked. Putting a hand on her shoulder, he turned her around to face him. "What are you doing here? Where is Katrina?! She's not... He didn't... Did he?!" Ichabod's words were almost incomprehensible as he stared, wide-eyed, down at the woman.

"I--I--saw her being escorted by a constable and when we arrived here I asked what I could get her to pass the night," Anabelle stammered, unable to look Ichabod in the eye. "The constable said he would stay with her until I returned, but when I got back, no one was here and the house was overturned," she choked on her tears, terrified at what may have happened to her cousin.  
"I don't know what happened. I was not gone long at all," Anabelle's shoulders fell. "Ichabod, you must believe me," she pleaded.

A mix of terror and fury swept through Ichabod. He stormed past Anabelle and up the stairs, grasping onto any hope that Katrina was still here. It was foolish though. How could she still be here? She would have come down before now, and no one would have uprooted the house and left her here... alive. Desperately, Ichabod shook that thought from his head. She was still alive. She had to be.  
After thoroughly searching the upstairs, Ichabod leaped down the stairs again, three at a time and ran past Anabelle into the kitchen. He looked inside every pantry, every cupboard, even down in the cellar in the ice shed. He would not lose hold on the possibility of her being here, hiding somewhere. However, after nearly ten minutes' frantic search, hurrying this way and that, Ichabod sunk to his knees in the dining room, his head in his hands. He could feel the last shred of hope being ripped from him, and it hurt. All at once, his headache returned full-force, he started to weep for the loss of his fiancé, and he staggered backwards on his legs at the shrill whinny that came from somewhere in the city outside.  
Katrina, his love, was gone, and Ichabod had the Horseman to deal with. Anybody could be next, until he figured out who had the head. Nobody was safe yet.

Anabelle could do nothing but watch in grief as Ichabod tore about the house, searching for signs of Katrina. She hated seeing him like this; she knew how much her cousin meant to him. Anabelle saw him collapse at the foot of the stairs and ran to his side, her dark hair flying over her shoulder as she knelt beside him.  
"Ichabod, I am so sorry," she breathed, not knowing what else to say. "Is there something I can do? Should I make you something? Should I send for someone? Please, I wish to help, but I don't know what to do."

His mind in a fog, Ichabod turned on her, grabbing her waist. He wasn't thinking straight. He was panicked, distraught, and desperate. The only thing that seemed to make sense in his confusion was that they was a rather beautiful woman, perhaps more beautiful that Katrina, kneeling beside him, asking him what he wanted her to do. The next action seemed only natural.  
In one swift motion, the constable had pulled Anabelle to him, pressing his lips to hers as he leaned her back with one arm and bent down over her, kissing her fiercely.

Her heart was in her throat as his lips descended fervently onto hers. Her mind was swimming. Some part of her knew this wasn't what was supposed to be happening, and another part couldn't deny how good it felt.  
Anabelle had always known Ichabod to be shy and, well, rather reserved, and here was the same Constable Crane with his lips roughly parting hers as his grip tightened around her waist.  
She couldn't think, she couldn't even move, simply surrendering to his heated kiss.

Ichabod pinned her to the floor, his arms wrapping gently around her waist, his eyes tight shut. Nothing in him seemed to want to pull away. Nothing in him felt guilty at what he was doing, though he thought deep down that he should have. He didn't even know what he _was_ doing. He was just...doing. With a soft, almost sad, sigh, Ichabod trailed his lips from one corner of her mouth to the other. His mouth stayed ardently glued to hers as his leg moved to hold her against the floor and his arms against to hold her against himself.

Anabelle could feel the beating of his heart through his shirt and vest as he pressed her to his chest. She heard him sigh, almost forlornly, as he trailed his lips from one side of her mouth to the other. That sigh broke her heart, causing her to gently lift her chin, kissing him softly.  
Upon feeling his weight shift over her as he pinned her against the floorboards, she heard a soft moan escape her lips and enter into his mouth. Whether this was right or wrong, she didn't know or care. The butterflies he stirred in her stomach and the way her heart skipped beats was making her drown into him. She couldn't fight it if she wanted to.

His breath quickening, Ichabod tickled his fingers over her corseted frame. He was just fingering the ties of that same corset when something slid into place in his mind. Something major. This was wrong. So _very_ wrong! This woman wasn't Katrina. She was far from it. And Katrina... she was gone, missing... dead?  
Gasping, Ichabod pulled away, pushing her hard into the wooden floor. They're lips made a soft puckering noise as they parted. Ichabod leapt to his feet, running his fingers frantically through his black hair. What had he been thinking? He _hadn't_ been thinking! He had to fine Katrina!

Anabelle let out a groan as she fell against the hard flooring, her lips suddenly cold. She shivered, knowing that what just happened wasn't supposed to; Ichabod wasn't supposed to have kissed her and she wasn't supposed to have kissed back.  
Her mind reeling, she pulled herself up to her feet. Thinking on it wouldn't make anything any easier for either of them. Best to just chalk it up to the strange situation and move on. However, she didn't know how to do this.  
She waited in silence, her pulse pounding in her temples, for Ichabod to say something.

However, when he finally did speak after nearly five minutes, Ichabod's words were muttered and rush, barely understandable.  
"Did I ever tell you about the Horseman? No... No, of course I didn't. But perhaps Katrina did? Yes, that would make sense, wouldn't it? She's your cousin and all..." He had not taken a single breath yet, and he kept going. "She was almost taken last time, by the Horseman. That monster would have had her head, quite literally, and I saved her." He paused, pressing the top of his skull against the wall, his eyes shut.  
"Why is he back? I do not get it. Who could it be? And how did the find out? It has to be a resident of Sleepy Hollow, nobody else knows the way around the Eastern Woods. Perhaps I should get a list of every citizen. Of course, I could be wrong. What if somebody else _does_ know? I told a lot of people. Not every detail, but maybe enough... And Katrina, or young Masbeth, could have let something slip... There are a lot of people in the city; it could take years to sort out who took the head this time, and by then... By then we could all be dead..." Ichabod clenched his fists, stressed and anguished. "I need more pieces... I need more clues. I need help. Only one... _sure_ victim. There is nothing to put together... Nothing to use to find out who might be next..."

Anabelle's mind was a blur as she watched Ichabod pace back and forth mumbling about the Horseman and his attacks, and something about Katrina. Her deep brown eyes widened, her lips parting as she realized something...  
"The Horseman...he had to know she was here. Oh! God in Heaven, they're going to think that I led him here...to Katrina...They're going to think I have some hand in this!" Panic welled up inside her until she found herself shaking violently, tears streaming unbidden down her eyes. She shook her head, willing these thoughts to be gone.  
"I know nothing of what happened or where she is, or if alive or no, but there will be an inquiry and I will be suspected," she buried her head in her arms.

Ichabod turned to her, eyes wide.  
"An inquiry?" he asked, a little stunned at this. "But... you didn't do anything, did you?" He strode towards her and grabbed her arm. His whole character had seemed to change, and he looked absolutely enraged. "Did you?! If there were an inquiry, there would be no evidence you did anything wrong. Unless you did!" His face red and jaw jutting, Ichabod strode towards the antechamber, dragging Anabelle along behind him. "What did you do?!" he screamed right into her pale face. "Why would you do this?! Where _IS_ she?!"

"I--I--I did nothing," Anabelle stuttered, her head rattling as he shook her. "I saw her with a constable and offered to fetch anything she required. Then when I came back they were gone and the house was a wreck."  
She remained in his tight grip, her frame shaking with fear.  
"But, it is my word against the world, and if even you don't believe me, I'm as good as hanged," she swallowed hard, searching Ichabod's eyes although half afraid of what she would find there. He was not himself and surely he blamed her for Katrina's disappearance.

Ichabod's eyes were narrowed to slits as he glared down at her. Then, a moment late, his gaze and features softened. Even to his own surprise, he pulled her close, and hugged her. It was a friendly hug, and nothing more, though there had to still be some tension between them for their earlier actions.  
"I believe you..." Ichabod murmured, trembling. He pulled away and looked down at her. "I feel as if I have failed her. Like... all of this is my fault. I should have kept her with me... In the precinct."

Anabelle rested her weary head against his chest, just letting herself be held. Her tears stopped as she heard him say he believed her. Her head ached dreadfully and she could barely lift it from its resting place when she heard Ichabod blame himself.  
"You should not say that, Ichabod," she answered, her arms circling him, hugging him back. "You were shielding her from the murder site and had her in the care of someone you knew you could trust, a fellow constable should have been able to care for her. Please do not blame yourself. It will never help us find what happened to Katrina, or who did it."

"But if I had not sent her back... She would not have been here, and he would have..." Ichabod trailed off sadly, pulling away from Anabelle's warm embrace. "But an inquiry... I won't let that happen. I'm almost High Constable... They'll listen to me."

"Promotion's off, Crane," said a voice behind them. Ichabod spun around and gulped at the face of the magistrate standing in the doorway, looking disapproving.  
"You are half an hour late for your shift, your house is a mess, and you are with a woman..." He peered at Anabelle. "Who is not your wife." He glared at Ichabod, arms folded over his chest. "You better straighten out and solve this, constable, or there will be no High Constable title for you!" He looked around, taking in the wreck of a house. "What happened here?"  
Ichabod bit his lip.  
"The... Horseman. He t-took Mrs. Crane, we think and... this is Anabelle, Katrina's cousin." He looked down at the brunette and furrowed his eyebrows before looking back to the magistrate. "I'm very sorry for... everything, sir... But, my w-wife."  
The magistrate's face stiffened and he nodded.  
"Take the night off, but be back for your shift again in the morning." He paused then stepped forward to put a hand on Ichabod's shoulder. "I'm sorry to hear about Mrs. Crane."  
When the magistrate was gone, Ichabod groaned and sunk onto one of the steps, his head in his hands and his face hidden.  
"There goes my promotion... And we didn't even get m-married...," he muttered quietly.

Anabelle didn't know which was worse: her recent feeling of invisibility, or the sinking suspicion that the magistrate called her a harlot for being in Ichabod's house. She narrowed her eyes, watching the disappearing back of the magistrate with a scowl on her lips. He had treated her with disrespect and didn't seem to care that she was Katrina's cousin. All he noticed was that she was not Ichabod Crane's wife.  
Well, she certainly knew where the police stood, as far as she was concerned. They would be no help to her at all, nor would they justly protect her. With an unsettling feeling in the pit of her stomach, she made her way to the door, bypassing the debris and passing right by Ichabod. Somehow she doubted he'd even look up if she were to leave...

A moment later, however, a hand shot out and grabbed Anabelle's wrist gently. Ichabod was staring at her, eyes huge.  
"You're leaving? But... what about Katrina? And... if they found out you were here." Ichabod took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. "Anabelle, you'll be convicted and punished... I've seen people punished for things like this before. Even if you came out alive... you would never be the same." He closed his eyes tight for a moment, images of his mother and those horrid contraptions flashing through his brain, and then he looked at her again. "Please do not go. I may require your help in finding Katrina."

Anabelle looked down at him, his eyes imploring her to stay. She drew in a breath, unsure of what her best course of action would be.  
Either way she would be trapped. The idea of being punished for a crime she had no hand in was not exactly something she wished to experience. But, appearances would be against her if anyone knew she arrived before Ichabod. She would be thrown in prison. On the other hand, there was a Headless Horseman out there, and Ichabod seemed to believe she could be a target for this maniac.  
"Ichabod," she finally replied. "I do not see a way out of this predicament. I can neither stay nor can I go. I know not what help I can be to you and I don't favor the idea of prison. What would you advise me to do? Besides," she continued, raking her bottom lip through her teeth. "There is one more, small problem which the magistrate just mentioned. I am not Katrina. How would you explain a woman residing in your home who is not your wife? Harboring the cousin of your fiancé while she is no where to be found would certainly not be good for your credibility and probably cost you that promotion."

Ichabod heaved a long sigh.  
"The promotion is more than likely done for anyways," he said sadly, looking down into the chocolate eyes. Oh how those eyes seemed so familiar. "And I can protect you far better from the constables and magistrate than from the Horse-..." Once more, Ichabod's sentence was not finished as he trailed off, looking deep in thought. "I wonder..." he mused aloud. Letting go of her wrist, he ventured across the room and out the door, sitting down on one of the entry steps outside. His forehead was placed in his hands as he thought. After a minute, he stood and paced along the topmost step, hands clamped tightly behind his back.  
"Anabelle? For the time being... can I ask one thing of you?" Ichabod asked, turning back to her and lifting his chin a little higher. "Can I ask you to trust me?"

Anabelle eyed him questioningly. He truly asked the strangest things. She thought over his request. Could she trust him? Well, she certainly trusted him far more than anyone else at this moment. And if what he offered would keep her safe, and possibly help him find Katrina, she didn't see how she could deny him her trust.  
"Yes, Ichabod..." she breathed out slowly. "I trust you."

"Good," Ichabod said, nodding quickly. "There is a guest room in this house. You will stay in my room, while I take the smaller bed. It is late, and I believe I should think over this a bit more before explaining. If you trust me, will you stay here? You will be safe, I promise you. I'll do my best to fix the door, but this is the best place for you now."

She was startled that he offered no clarification or explanation of his plan. Truly, she hoped he had one.  
Sighing to herself, she followed Ichabod up the stairs, watching as he occasionally turned over his shoulder to make sure she was behind him. The house was larger than she expected, apparently decorated for its new mistress. Suddenly something dawned on her.  
"Ichabod, I cannot stay in the large room," she shook her head, her hair flying into her eyes. "I cannot ask you to leave your quarters, nor can I reside in the room that was meant for you to share with my cousin this night. That wouldn't be fair."

Ichabod wrapped his hand around her wrist again, pulling her on.  
"You did not ask, Anabelle. I told you." He stopped in front of the double doors to the master bedroom. "Honestly, I would rather not stay in that bed tonight... Not without Katrina. I have gotten used to sleeping in the guest chambers. I was saving this room for the night Katrina and I married. Even if that wasn't tonight..." He sighed. "You sleep. It is very late. I will talk to you in the morning." He started to turn away, and then paused.  
"And Anabelle? Please do not leave."

She slowly nodded her response. Ichabod did not speak harshly to her, but she knew it would be madness to argue. She passed through the double doors and entered into the room where she would pass the night.


	3. Counterfeit

Counterfeit

Although she passed the night, Anabelle was far from asleep. She tossed and turned throughout the darkened hours. With the nightmarish fiend that had taken her cousin, the sorrow she'd seen in Ichabod's eyes, and the disquiet she felt at staying in their bed, she could not close her eyes. Finally as the dawn's faintest light warmed the cold night sky, she stole from the room, eager to be about something. If she remained idle, she would be forced to think...and her brain was quite taxed.  
She made her way as quietly as possible to the kitchen. Searching for pots and pans, she began making breakfast. Unsure of whether Ichabod would rise or not, she decided to take his to him. It was the least she could do.  
She paused outside of his door, left cracked open during the night. She gently knocked before nudging the door open slightly and calling into the room.  
"Ichabod? It's Anabelle...Are you awake?"  
She received no reply, so she stole quietly into the room, taking a moment to allow her eyes to adjust to the dim lighting. She set the tray down on the bedside table and was prepared to leave the room as silently as she entered it when a murmur from Ichabod caused her to turn and observe the sleeping man.  
His long black lashes fanned out over his pale skin, his lips slightly parted as he slept. His black locks were ruffled, giving him the appearance of being no more than a lad. Anabelle's eyes strayed over his sleeping form. He was twisted in the sheets, looking as if his rest had been anything but peaceful. Her heart went out to him. He must be going through hell, with all the business with Katrina and the Horseman. It only made it worse that it was the second time he'd be dealing with this.  
Slowly and hesitantly, Anabelle reached her hand out and touched his, gently running her thumb over the back of his palm. He didn't deserve to suffer so. With a sigh, she turned to go, wishing there was something she could do.

Before she could move far, however, there was an almost indistinct murmur behind her that sound almost like, "Good morning, my dear." A gentle, soft-skinned hand wrapped about her forearm, pulling her backwards. Ichabod's eyes were still closed entirely as he tugged Anabelle into a sit on the edge of the bed. A moment later, she was falling backwards onto him. He wrapped his arms tightly about waist from behind, pressing her frame against his. Setting his lips to her ear, he kissed the porcelain lobe and whispered rather unclear sentences that might have been proclamations of love or adoration, or just random thoughts escaping his mouth.

She froze, quite unsure of what to do. Ichabod must have her confused with Katrina. Her heart began to pound in her chest, the reverberations sure to reach him as he kept her close.  
What startled her most was not, in fact, the touch of his lips to her ear, but the fact the warm shudders it sent through her. The fact that she did not abruptly correct him of his mistake also startled her...what concerned her more was that she wasn't sure she wished to correct him.

Ichabod did not release his hold, and by the evening of his breathing in her ear, she could have guessed that he had once more fallen into a deep sleep. His legs were slightly entwined in hers, the smells of breakfast barely affecting him. In his mind and dreams, he was in bed, holding Katrina, his wife, fast to him as if he'd never let him go.

For some reason, the rhythmic breathing of Ichabod behind her and his strong grasp on her waist made Anabelle relax. Slowly her eyelids began to droop, the anxiety of the previous night relenting. Ichabod made her feel safe, even if he thought she was Katrina, Anabelle felt secure. Finally, unable to resist any longer, her eyelids closed and sleep claimed her.

--------------------------------------------------------

An hour and a half later, Ichabod's eyes fluttered open. He was confused at first. He felt warm and very comfortable, but he was not quite sure why. After a few minutes, his gaze focused on the mass of dark hair in front of him. He frowned, nonplused. It took him a full thirty seconds to react, and when he did, he seemed to erupt. He threw himself away from her, arms flying, and fell of the opposite side of the bed. Then he sat on the floor, staring at the sleeping for of Anabelle in disbelief. What was she doing there? Is _his_ bed? Had she been there most of the night?  
"A-Anabelle?" he stammered, stunned as he climbed to his feet slowly, shaking.

From somewhere she heard her name and struggled to make her eyelids obey and open accordingly. When she did, she saw Ichabod staring startled up at her from the floor. Suddenly she remembered what happened and bolted up, jumping out of bed.  
"I apologize...I came to bring you breakfast...didn't wish to disturb you and was almost gone when...I have no idea what happened..."she jumbled all her words together in an earnest desire to explain what happened, finally realizing that she couldn't explain it at all. All she knew was that she felt like a small child, uncertain and backed into a corner she couldn't get out of. It was not something she liked at all and it seemed to be a reoccurring emotion as of late.

Ichabod could say nothing as he just gawked over at her. He faintly remembered dreaming about Katrina. They had gotten married and had spent a long wedding night in each others arms. What Ichabod could not shake off was the feeling of comfort that had overpowered him while he was holding Anabelle. Though, surely that was because he thought her to be Katrina... surely.  
Holding up his hand to silence her, Ichabod shook his head.  
"It was not any fault of yours, Anabelle. I am the one to apologize, for putting you in such a... position. I am sorry, truly I am. You have my sincere promise that that will not happen again..." He paused, searching her face from the other side of the bed. "Are you alright?"

Anabelle nodded, her hands restlessly smoothing the skirt of her dress as she felt Ichabod's eyes boring into her. Her cheeks blushed on their own accord and she longed to get out of the room, preferably outside. The biting chill in the air would be a welcomed break from how stifling she found her present location. Absently she ran her fingers through her dark tresses, gently tugging once she reached the bottom of her hair.  
"I am fine, thank you," she didn't meet his eyes. "I am sorry I startled you."

"And I, you," Ichabod said, shifting uneasily. There was a long period of silence between the two, before at last, Ichabod cleared his throat. "You...er...brought me breakfast?" he asked, not being able to think of anything better to say. Quickly as possible, he pulled on his suspenders of his shirt and then his vest. "In a small while, I shall tell you about my idea... But, Anabelle? You mustn't be angry. It is for your own safety, I do hope."

Anabelle averted her gaze as he pulled on his suspenders and his vest.  
"Yes, I brought breakfast for you. I daresay it's ice cold now. I'll make you something else if we go downstairs...I wasn't sure what you liked, so I made a bit of everything...and a bit of a mess, but I'll clean it all once you've eaten something," she was rambling like a madwoman. How is it that she was all of a sudden so ill-at-ease being alone with Ichabod.  
"And what do you mean, 'you mustn't be angry'?"

Ichabod ran his hand through his black hair thoughtfully. He wondered how much he should tell her. Finally, he lifted his coat from a hook on the wall and nodded to the door.  
"I mean, merely, that my idea may seem...unorthodox." He sighed and stood in the door frame to glance back at her. "Come, and I will explain over breakfast..." he bade, twisting his hands behind his back rather nervously.

Anabelle followed Ichabod down to the kitchen where she proceeded to restart breakfast preparations. She didn't know what he had up his sleeve, but was prepared to listen as soon as he decided to talk.  
"What would you like for breakfast?" she asked, simply to have something to say.

Ichabod shrugged.  
"I don't particular care. Whatever you wish to make." He pulled out a chair and sat down, his fingers tracing familiar paths through his dark hair. "Anabelle, my idea would require you to sacrifice a large part of your life, I want you to know that. You would be much safer, but you would not be... you."

"Ichabod, please," Anabelle left breakfast alone for the moment. "Just tell me what this idea is. As it is, I don't see I have any alternatives. Whatever it takes, I'll do it..." she took a deep breath. "Regardless of whom I have to be."  
She met his eyes, almost drowning in their dark depths. She searched for an answer within his eyes, but found none. Only concern and hesitation. Why wouldn't he simply tell her? What did he have to be afraid of? Surely this proposition would be more difficult for her than it would be for him.

Ichabod thought and hesitated but a moment longer, before explaining.  
"Well, do you think you could pass for Katrina? If we told everyone that you are Katrina, and the Katrina had been you... I do not know if the Horseman can possibly be fooled. However, the constables will not suspect you, or accuse you, of being the murderer. Anabelle... you would have to play the part of Katrina, and my wife." He paused, avoiding her gaze. "But inside the house, it would be normal. I shall remain in the guest bedroom, and you will sleep in the master bed. You know that I would never ask anything more of you. This is only for your protection."

Anabelle paused, turning over the proposition in her mind. Playing the part of Katrina wouldn't be difficult, she thought. Surely she could do her cousin's mannerisms justice and pretend to be her. Then, suddenly, her eyes widened at the rest of Ichabod's statement...

**His wife...**

That would mean, in public, she would be Katrina Crane...Mrs. Crane...married to Ichabod. Certainly there were far less pleasing men to be married to, and Ichabod would never let any harm come to her...but why did the idea of play-acting as his wife make her feel lightheaded. She lifted her gaze to meet his eyes but did not succeed. Her deep brown eyes rolled back into her head and her world went black.

Ichabod blinked as Anabelle simply seemed to crumple. He had expected raised voices, a red face and rage. He had certainly not anticipated her to just collapse, unconscious. After a second of being stunned, Ichabod stood and knelt by her side. Oddly, he felt need to check her pulse, which he did, then her forehead for any sign of a fever. It seemed odd for her to have this reaction, but was it a good, or bad reaction. Surely she would not have fainted if she thought the idea was a good one.  
"Anabelle?" Ichabod asked, shaking her shoulder gently. "Anabelle, wake up." There was no response. He tried again, but when there was still no reaction from Anabelle, he sighed. Being unable to think of what else to do, he slid his arms under her knees and around her shoulders and lifted from the cold floor. After shifting her slightly, he carried her up to the master bedroom and laid her down on the bed. Then he stepped back and looked down on her.  
Was his idea not a good one after all? Perhaps he had told her too much too son. He might have shocked her into fainting. How long would it be until she woke? What would she do then? Would she be angry, or scared? Try to simply sneak out without him noticing? Perhaps he would stay, just so be sure, and to make sure she would be alright. Pulling a chair closer to the bedside, he sat down and flipped open one of his journal, taking out a fountain pen and starting a sketch small, random drawings.

-------------------------------------------------------------

Anabelle's mind was blurry as her eyes focused slowly on the darkened scene before her. She was standing in Sleepy Hollow, in the field by Katrina's house. Not too far off she could see Ichabod and Katrina, arms around each other, as they traipsed back to the house. She smiled a small smile as she watched Ichabod's behavior. He was so devoted to Katrina, his gaze barely falling on any sight beside her face. His eyes were warm, his arm around her resting tenderly on her waist.  
How was she supposed to pretend to be Katrina? Certainly her presence did not prompt such affection from Ichabod, and everyone knew he was madly in love with Katrina.  
Light blinded her, causing her to cover shield her eyes. The light kept increasing, brighter and brighter until Anabelle's head began to ache. Her eyes fluttered open and refocused on a completely different scene.  
Ichabod was sitting close to the bed, leaning back in the chair, doodling in a journal. His fountain pen left an ink stain on one of his fingers, which he had managed to smear on his cheek, near his nose. His black hair fell into his eyes, which were glued to the page of his journal.  
Slowly, Anabelle sat up, pulling her knees up. She had every intention of doing this quietly so as not to disturb Ichabod, but the bed creaked.   
The bed? She didn't recall getting upstairs. They had been in the kitchen, hadn't they? Surely something must have happened. Upon hearing the creak of the mattress, Ichabod looked up and met Anabelle's questioning, surprised eyes.  
"What happened?" Anabelle blinked.

"You fainted," Ichabod replied simply, lowering his journal. He snapped it shut hurriedly before Anabelle could see any of the contents, and set it down on the bedside stand. Looking back to the young woman on the bed in front of him, he leant forward, looking a little concerned. The emotion in his dark eyes was so jumbled that it was difficult to determine. He was grieving, of course, and stressed. Yet he felt something more than normal concern seeing her scared, or unconscious.  
"How do you feel?" he asked, frowning a little as he attempted to push this new mess of feeling into submission. "It was quite sudden. Perhaps you are ill?" He reached out to feel her forehead again, and then paused. "And if you do not value my plan, I could maybe think up a new one."

Anabelle closed her eyes as his hand rested on her forehead. She forced herself to keep her breath level. When he pulled his hand away, she opened her eyes to meet his.  
"I am well, I think," she answered. "That's so odd...I have never fainted before."  
For a while neither spoke. Anabelle stared off into space, idly using one hand to pull back the fingers on the other with a thoughtful expression on her face. "And please do not fret over your plan. It's a good idea. I hope it's not too hard on you to have me parade around as Katrina. I do worry about you, Ichabod, with that aspect. If you are going to be all right with it, then we should go through with it."

Rubbing his chin, Ichabod shrugged.  
"I'll admit that I don't really know how it will be. It may be hard for the both of us, but it will buy us time to find the real culprit." Ichabod's face grew stiff and he stared ahead of him, out the round window on the other side of the room. "When we do find him, I will kill him myself. He murdered my Katrina, and he will not get away with it." Standing up, Ichabod tried to relax himself. "Please, stay here and rest yourself. You still look pale. I have to be down at the station for my shift in ten minutes, but I will be back in just an hour. I will start thinking through the finer points of the plan, and will inform you when I return." With that, he turned and left the bedroom, locking the door behind him. What he did not realize was that he had left his sketchbook on Anabelle's bed stand.

Anabelle heard Ichabod's footsteps die down as she lay back against the pillows of the bed. She didn't feel ill, just a little shaky at the newest twist her life had taken. Her eyes darted about the room, landing on the sketchbook Ichabod had been doodling in before he left. She rose to her feet, taking the book in her hand as she left the room. She'd leave it in his room for when he came back.  
A piece of paper fell to the ground. She stooped to pick it up. One side held a perfect likeness of her cousin, bearing Ichabod's initials in the corner. Her eyes widened in shock. She had no idea he was so talented! She flipped it over to find a strange pair of glasses carefully drawn on the other. Her eyebrow arched as she imagined Ichabod wearing glasses like these...it actually made her laugh.  
Sticking the paper carefully back into the sketchbook, she entered his room, placing it carefully on his bed before heading downstairs to the library.

------------------------------------------------------------

An hour later, Ichabod returned to the house. He was panting, and sweat poured from his brow and soaked his white shirt through to the vest. After unlocking the broken door and stepped inside and leant against the banister, bent double and trying to catch his breath.  
"Ana-Anabelle...," he wheezed, wincing a little as his lungs failed to fill adequately yet again. He had been anxious to return, so the moment after he had reported into the station, he had dashed away up the street back to the house. He half-expected to, and was terrified he would, find the house once more in a wreck and Anabelle beheaded on the bed. This thought made him shiver, but he had been relieved to find the door still securely locked and everything in the same place. "Anabelle?" he called again, a little louder this time.

From the comfy chair in the library where she sat curled up with an entrancing book, Anabelle heard her name. She quickly stood, making her way to the library door.  
"Here I am," she looked out to the hallway to see a very tired-looking, rather sweaty, Ichabod leaning against the banister. "Are you well?" she asked, not trying to hide the worry in her voice as she noted the red glow to his pale cheeks, his chest laboriously rising and falling.

"It is just about freezing outside," Ichabod commented through a series of light coughs. "And I sprinted the distance from the station to here, but yes, I am fine." He straightened himself and tried to even the quickened pace of his heart. "How are you? Was all well while I was away?"

"All was well," Anabelle answered. "I took the liberty of borrowing a book from your library, I hope you don't mind." She glanced up to see his lips looking slightly blue from the cold. "Come, you're half frozen. I'll fix you something to warm you up. Since I haven't done anything productive all day," she chided herself, hesitatingly reaching forward to take his hand and pull him into the kitchen.

Ichabod could not suppress a smile as he was led into the kitchen, but as he sat down at the table, it slipped away. He rested his elbows on the table and his face in his hands, shivering.  
"Anabelle, the magistrate is coming over for dinner. Would you mind terribly cooking something up later today? If you do not want to, I can hire a cook." He paused. "I would rather not have another person here to hear when we tell him about the plan though."

Anabelle's nose wrinkled as he said the word "magistrate." She recalled his behavior towards her the previous day and was disinclined to think highly of him. Nevertheless, she couldn't disappoint Ichabod.  
"A cook is not necessary," she shook her head, her dark locks brushing over her shoulder. "I will make whatever you two desire to dine upon." She set about making a pot of hot tea. "I...tend to cook a lot when I get apprehensive," she admitted, biting down on her lower lip and twisting her fingers in that nervous way of hers.

"I can understand that," Ichabod said, nodding. He looked up at her with a bit of a strange expression on his face. He wondered how he would really cope having her as his "wife". Shaking his head, he pushed the doubts from his mind. He had been friends with Anabelle since they had met and he was concerned about her. "I tend to draw when I get apprehensive. I was, in fact, drawing earlier when you were..." He trailed off, frowning. "I think I left my journal in the room. Did you happen to see it?"

"Oh yes. You left it on the bedside table. I brought it back to your room. One of the pages fell out...you really are quite talented! I never knew you could draw so well, Ichabod. You ought to do something more than just putter about in a journal," she turned her attention back to the tea, searching for mugs. "You don't ever wear those glasses you drew, though, do you?"

Ichabod's pale face went bright red in the period of about two seconds. He looked down at the table and picked at a bit of the wood, digging his fingernail into a softer part.  
"Oh, well, yes. I do wear them. It is one of my inventions. I will show you, if you like." He bit his lip, digging deeper into the wood. "My mother taught me to draw. I never especially liked the idea of doing anything more with the drawings than keep them unseen in that journal. Even Katrina never saw..." He shrugged, and then blushed deeper, not able to remember what else had been drawn on that page. If she had seen what he was drawing while she was asleep... He held his breath. "Er, thank you, though, for the compliment."

For the first time since, she smiled brightly, hearing herself let out a small laugh at the thought of him in those glasses. She turned to look over her shoulder, her bright smile still on her lips.  
"I would like to see you in those," she admitted, her eyes sparkling with amusement. After a moment she added, "And when we find Katrina, you must show her the one you did of her. It was on the back and I've never seen a more perfect likeness."

"There's so much about you, Ichabod, that I just don't know," she added after another pause, finding the mugs and pouring tea into them. She handed Ichabod his first before she leaned on the table. "You can draw, invent, solve crimes that puzzle all other authorities...what else are you hiding from the world?"

Ichabod had just taken a sip of his tea, when he choked, spluttering it down his chin. After a few seconds, he managed to stop coughing and he had looked up at her, shrugging.  
"I'm not hiding anything. It's only that I do not take many measures to tell anyone anything." Out of habit, he opened his hand and looked down at the small dot-like scars on his palm, placed in perfectly spaced squares. Then he clenched his hand shut again and put it on his knee under the table. Her brilliant smile made his stomach twist and he felt relieved that a drawing of the glasses and of Katrina was all she had seen. "I don't know much about you myself, Anabelle. What are _you_ hiding?"

"I have no secrets, Ichabod," she sipped on her tea. "Perhaps, like you, I do not take many measures to tell anyone anything," Anabelle quoted his words back to him. "However, if there is something you wish to know, if you ask me the questions, I shall spell you no lies."

Ichabod could not help but chuckle. He liked Anabelle more and more as the minutes passed. Wanting to come to some sort of agreement with her, He cleared his throat.  
"How does this sound? I shall tell you one truth about me, or my past, and you will follow with one truth about _you_. Reasonable?"

"I accept your offer," Anabelle smiled a small smile. This should prove to be an interesting game. "Who begins?"

"I!" Ichabod said, lifting his chin a little. Then he paused for a moment to think of something. He wished to avoid bringing up his mother for as long as possible. "Alright... When I was 15, I snuck into the brandy cabinet of my employer, and I...got rather drunk. Went outside and got run over by a passing stagecoach. Broke my arm, and got bruised up pretty badly. Haven't touched more than wine since then. The novelty sort of wore off, you see." He smiled faintly, despite himself.

Anabelle couldn't imagine Ichabod Crane drunk on brandy. She tried not to smile at the amusing image it painted. Then she remembered that she would have to follow with a truth about herself. Certainly there were things in her past which Ichabod would not want to know...and those she wished to keep from him as long as possible.  
She stared into her tea, as if expecting the leaves to give her an answer.  
"When I was small...perhaps eight or so...I was out ice skating on the pond at Sleepy Hollow. The ice cracked and I fell through. I don't quite remember all that happened afterwards, I don't even recall who pulled me out, but I do remember my brother standing there laughing at me for being stupid enough to fall through the ice. I also remember Katrina being angry with me for losing one of her skates."

Ichabod frowned, thinking of his fiancé yelling at the young Anabelle for something as trivial as an ice skate.  
"I suppose she used to be a little more material possessive?" he inquired, twisting his hand beneath the table. He was next. He tried to think of something as he kneaded his thumb into the palm of the opposite hand.  
"Well...hmm..." He scratched his chin. "When I was first at Sleepy Hollow, all of my childhood beliefs, the superstitions and such, all cane back to me. I refused, at first, to believe in the Horseman, but eventually he became undeniable. Namely when I witnessed the murder of Magistrate Philipse. I have always had a weak stomach. That and the full terror..." He paused, looking down at the table, embarrassed. "I fainted," he finished simply, avoiding her gaze.

"Well, I am not sure, but I think those were Katrina's new ice skates...from the City...and I lost one. I am sure they were very expensive," Anabelle wanted to clear things up. She hadn't meant to say anything against her cousin, especially to Ichabod.  
"All right, my turn..." she paused to think."The very first time I got to ride a horse was a dreary day in March. We had several family friends, along with some of our family out to celebrate my brother's engagement. It was windy and cold and I wasn't thinking of what I was doing. Anyway, the horse flung me off his back and into a mud hole. I was covered from head to toe in thick, half-thawed mud."

Ichabod shook his head.  
"I cannot say I favor the equine species much. It is awkward, but I suppose unavoidable in some case." He went quiet, thinking about what she had said about Katrina. "I do not need to have talk of Katrina's flaws censored from me either, Anabelle. We are all only human. We each have our faults. Katrina... She was no angel, though she was angelic to me. I loved her, and I failed her. She is gone." Ichabod seemed to suddenly crumple before her. His shoulders slumped forward, his head in his arms and his hair tousled. He was breaking down, tears prickling at the corners of his eyes.

Anabelle watched as he broke down. She was so angry with herself for bringing up Katrina, making him dwell on it...but that would do no good now.  
In a few steps she was beside him, her hand resting on his disheveled hair as she smoothed back the black locks. It felt like silk as it slipped through her fingers. She leaned forward and to place a sweet kiss on the top of his head, continuing to allow her fingers to run through his hair.  
"I am sorry, Ichabod," her voice came out in a whisper as she set another sweet kiss on his head. "I seem to have quite a talent for saying the wrong things."  
Black locks fell silently through soft fingers on small hands, seeming to mesmerize Anabelle. She only hoped it was of some comfort to Ichabod.

Ichabod's shoulders shook for a moment before he was lifting his head and looking at Anabelle with something like amazement. Her touch was so different. While similar to Katrina's in some way, it was a world apart. Reaching up, Ichabod took her hand in his and lowered it to his eye level. As though he expected to see something about it that was odd or out of place, he examined her hand from wrist to palm, to fingertips, looking thoughtful. His finger traced light paths over her digits, oblivious to what affect it might have on her.

Anabelle couldn't breathe. Ichabod's touch was sending shivers through her, shivers she hoped he couldn't feel. His fingers traced her hand, slowly, with precision. She was under his careful examination and it made her heart race. She watched as he studied her hand; the object of his search alluding her. His fingers bypassed the scar on her thumb or the faded burn mark across her middle finger. Apparently he was looking for something she did not see. His touch was gentle and soft, making her shudder and bite down on her bottom lip to keep from sighing. His fingers slightly intertwined with hers as he examined and traced over hers.  
Silently she wished his touch would always feel this way to her.

Without any explanation to her, Ichabod dropped her hand and looked up at her face instead. Those eyes seemed so familiar, but he felt sure he had never before looked into eyes that deep and so rich a color. She had a simplistic beauty to her, and yet he knew no soul would ever be able to puzzle out the intricacy in her eyes. Some people were simple to translate, others it would take time.  
Suddenly, it occurred to Ichabod what he was doing. He stood up, pushing his chair backwards and turned away quickly to the doorway.  
"I... have to go... I need to get ready for dinner...before the magistrate arrives. Clean off...and change clothes." He stepped out of the room quickly adding, "Dinner will need to be ready in about two hours..."

Anabelle stood puzzled, alone in the kitchen. Ichabod had been searching for something...something he apparently didn't find. She had no clue what it could have been that made him bolt form the room so quickly. With a small sigh, she picked up the mugs, setting about cleaning up tea and starting dinner preparations. She wrinkled her nose in distaste at the thought of dealing with the magistrate again. Well, this time he would find her in much more control of the situation, she silently vowed.  
Peeking her head out the door, she saw a young boy strolling down the street. She called to him and quickly jotted down a note on a piece of loose paper.  
"Take this to the yellow house near Saint Michael's Church. Wait for a bag from the housekeeper. Here's some money for your troubles. If you hurry back, I will double it."  
With a bow and an eager smile, the boy took off in the direction of Saint Michael's Church.  
Her errand dispatched, Anabelle turned her thoughts to preparing dinner.

Ichabod stood inside the guest room, his temporary bedroom, facing one of the walls. He had one hand rested on the wall and his head bowed. Though nobody looking briefly into the room would see it, his cheeks were damp with gentle tears. He had failed Katrina. He had failed her, killed her, and now he was being unfaithful. He was a fool and somewhere in the back of his mind, he wished the Horseman would just come and end it for him. He wanted to die. If he died, he would see her again. He could be with Katrina.  
_But what about Anabelle?_ a little voice said in Ichabod's head. He shook his head, forcing that thought from his head. Katrina was his love, not Anabelle. Katrina had been his fiancé. Ichabod moved to the window and looked out.  
Down in the darkening street, a dark figure was slowly making his way towards the house.  
The magistrate, Ichabod thought. A moment later, Ichabod's breath caught in his throat. Every step that figure took was accompanied by a soft jingling at his heels. And there was something about that stance. Then Ichabod noticed the smaller, more feminine figure standing near the steps of the house.  
"Anabelle," Ichabod whispered desperately. The figure was drawing a huge sword and Ichabod realized. There was no head. Before he could do anything though, the woman had started to turn, there was a quick _shwing_ noise, a splatter of read, and a series of thuds as the newly severed head rolled away from the crumpled body.  
"ANABELLE!!!" Ichabod managed to scream, before he fainted once more.

----------------------------------------------------

"Was it really necesary to command him to kill my _daughter_, woman?" a dark figure said, rolling his eyes as he peered down at the scene in the street from a different angle, higher up in a building. Slowly, his ran his rough hands over the arms of the woman standing in front of him, pulling her further into the shadows and away from the window.

"You complain of distractions, yet when I have them stopped, you complain more?" the feminine voice drolled sarcastically. She stepped into him, pressing herself up against his frame, making him back against a wall. "In fact, I believe there is only one thing I do that you do not complain of..."

The man laughed a cold snicker, turning her around and shoving her harshly against the wall.  
"You are correct, m'dear. I certainly do not complain."


	4. Deep in the Heart

Deep in the Heart

Anabelle managed to get a dazed Ichabod onto his bed before running down to the kitchen to fetch a strong glass of wine. He was relatively incoherent...she didn't even know if he knew who she was. He kept muttering her name over and over.  
"I'm here," she told him, sitting him up against the headboard, holding the glass of wine to his lips. "I'm here. Drink this."  
He managed to swallow, but his still did not look fully conscious. Then she thought about what he had told her...about fainting in Sleepy Hollow. Something must have terrified him completely. Anxiously she searched his face, hoping for some indication, as she held on tightly to both of his hands.  
"It's all right, Ichabod. I'm here."

"Anabelle?" Ichabod asked for what seemed the thousandth time. This time, however, his voice was stronger and he seemed to be able to focus on the features of the woman before him. "Anabelle?!" He blinked at her, uncomprehendingly. "But...but the Horseman... I saw you, and your head was..." He shuddered out of control and tried to pull away from her to go to the window, but she was holding him back. "No... Someone is down there... Somebody...hurt." His sentences were choppy as if he was too rushed, too scared, to bother forming proper English.

"Ichabod, please. Slow down and tell me what has gotten into you," Anabelle fought against him as he tried to get up. "I'm fine. There's nothing wrong with me," she insisted trying to assuage his trembling, hoping for coherent answers. She searched his eyes, failing to ignore how deep of brown they were or how they drew her in until she felt herself drowning into them. She shook her head. Now was not the time to dwell on such emotions. In fact, she shouldn't be having these thoughts or feelings at all. She felt her hands relax their grip on him as she mentally chided herself for her wandering mind.

Feeling her grip slacken, Ichabod wrenched himself away and scurried to the window, looking down. Night had fallen for the most part on New York, and he could just barely make out the forms of around six officers standing around something on the ground that Ichabod could not see. Even so, he knew what it was: The body of some young lady, murdered, and innocent.  
He turned back to Anabelle, his mouth working furiously, but making no sounds.  
"There," he whispered. "Down there... The Horseman." Ichabod's legs shook violently and he was forced to lean on the desk next to him to keep from simply toppling over. "Right in front of the house, Anabelle... They will think...think..." He trailed off, wincing.

Her heart pounded in her chest so hard she thought it would break her ribcage. She struggled to stay in control, to remain calm, but failed miserably. She sat on the bed, staring at the imprint left by Ichabod's body, her lips parted, but no breath was coming out.   
Mechanically she rose to her feet and joined him at the window, glancing down into the shadowy streets. There, in the street, just in front of the house, a small crowd gathered...the Horseman's latest victim.  
Anabelle felt her composure slipping as she crumbled to the ground. Her arms rested on her knees as she buried her head in her arms, her fingers raking through her dark tresses as she started shaking.  
Ichabod's words rang ominously in her head, repeating and repeating:  
_"Right in front of the house, Anabelle... They will think...think..."_   
--------------------------------------------  
They would think it was her.  
--------------------------------------------  
Suddenly she stood, she had to get out of there. She was putting Ichabod in too much danger. Turning her head to him, she tried to meet his eyes one last time, but he was glued to the window. She bit down on her lip. He would never know. Feeling panic well up inside her, she darted out of the room.

Ichabod heard the footfalls as Anabelle fled, but it took him a moment to respond at all. When realization did hit and he looked around, it was too late. She was gone.  
"Anabelle!" he shouted, staring at the doorway she had, moments before, fled through. "No, Anabelle! It's too dangerous!" Forgetting his previous fears and terror, he bolted after. He tore down the stairs, fearing where she would go, or what she would do.

Anabelle knew going through the front door was not an option. She just allowed her feet to lead her blindly in whatever direction they deemed right. She could hear Ichobad's footsteps thundering down the stairs as she reached the kitchen. He shouldn't bother with her; all she brought him was trouble.  
Just as she reached the door, she realized it was locked. Scrambling frantically she searched for the key, finally finding it on the table amidst the preparations for dinner. Shaking, she placed it in the lock and was about to open the door and leave Ichabod in peace when a hand reached out and held the door closed. She could feel warm breathing against her temple.  
Wide eyed, she froze, unable to move at all.

Ichabod's hands gently pulled Anabelle away from the door by her arms.  
"Please, don't go, Anabelle. You will not last a day out there." He pulled her close to him, the only thoughts in his head at the moment to keep her safely inside. Nothing else was important, and not even thoughts of his deceased fiancé penetrated the fore of his mind now. Holding her arms gently against him, his breath drifting past her ears and hair.  
"Either by Horseman, or law, you will not survive if you leave now. I will not let you be executed, or found in some alley with your head severed from your body. I will not!"

She closed her eyes, swallowing hard. She was shaking violently and she knew he could feel it from the way he held her arms. His breath drifted past her ear, stirring her dark hair, making her shiver again. Heavens, she should not be thinking of the surges his touch sent through her! It was all just so overwhelming.  
"I cannot stay here with you," Anabelle heard herself say with surprisingly more calm than she expected. She sounded defeated. "There is no need for you to risk your life to save me. It would seem I am marked."  
Anabelle turned to face Ichabod, not able to meet his eyes. "I cannot ask you to put yourself in any more danger, Ichabod. This," she indicated to her head and neck, "This is just not worth it."  
She closed her eyes again as two tears fell from black lashes slowly coursing down her pale cheeks.

Silent for a moment, Ichabod thought over the situation. Then he did something that surprised even himself. He wrapped his arms about Anabelle's shoulders and pulled her to him, his lips resting momentarily on the top of her head.  
"Every human being is worth it, Anabelle. As for you... you are worth so much more as well. And I am marked also." He pulled away, but kept a tight grip on her arm. "Now, come. The magistrate will be here soon, and you haven't any dinner ready. If you wipe your tears, and calm yourself, he will suspect nothing. We can maybe just convince him that we have seen nothing yet." He paused, searching the chocolate eyes. "Well, what say you?"

Anabelle searched his eyes, wondering how he could be so calm. It was then she realized he was doing it for her. A blush rose to her cheeks as she gave him a small nod, lifting her hand to dry her eyes.  
"All right," she answered, her eyes falling on half-finished dinner preparations. "Thank you, Ichabod," she added, lightly grasping his free hand with hers, gently applying pressure.  
Turning her attention back to dinner, she remembered something.  
"If you see a small boy with a green bag, do send him to me," Anabelle told Ichabod. "I asked him to bring me some things from home...just in case."

"Of coarse I will," Ichabod said with a little nod. "I'll wait for him by the side of the house and tell him to come to the kitchen door. It may not be wise to have him enter to the front what with... Well, he may be frightened away, or not permitted through." Giving her one last confident smile, he strode from the room.  
Outside, he leaned against a wall; eyes shut, and took a long, deep breath. What a strange week this was turning out to be...

Anabelle smoothed the skirts of her dress once more as she turned in the mirror. She was dreading dinner with the magistrate. Willing her fidgety hands to be still she took one more glance at herself, making sure her appearance was decent.  
As soon as Ichabod had brought the boy inside, she paid him for his troubles, finished up what she was doing and rushed upstairs. The magistrate already didn't seem to have a favorable opinion towards her, and, though sometimes it sounded irrational even to her, she did not want him to see her in the same clothes as the day before.  
This particular dress was dark, the deepest shade of green possible. It contrasted wonderfully with her pale skin and dark eyes. She quickly swept her hair out of her face and headed towards when she stopped and paused. Turning she walked over to the bag the boy had brought and fished out two objects. With tandem "pings" they dropped into her pocket. With a sigh, she made her way downstairs to make sure nothing had burned in her absence...and to avoid the magistrate as long as possible.

----------------------------------------------------------

When the constable arrived, Ichabod was sitting at the kitchen table, fiddling aimlessly with a few of his contraptions, and pretending, even to himself, that he was not watching Anabelle out of the corner of his eye. There was a knock on the door, making Ichabod jump. He had had his gaze transfixed on Anabelle's...backside features as she bent over to check the food in the oven. She looked gorgeous in the dress and he just could not help himself. Blushing, he looked away and stood to answer the door.  
"Sir!" he exclaimed, opening the door, over-boisterously. The magistrate blinked, then shook his head.  
"This better be important, Crane. And maybe you can explain why a young girl has been decapitated right in front of you house?"  
"Young...girl?" Ichabod repeated. Though his expression was questioning, sweat was starting to pour down the back of his neck and he twisted his hands nervously behind his back. "What—"  
"You didn't notice the murder take place right in front of your house about one hour ago?" the magistrate asked skeptically.  
"I was fixing a few of my inventions," Ichabod said. "And Anabelle was cooking, so it was louder than usual in the h-"  
"Anabelle? That girl is still here?"  
"Yes," Ichabod replied a little defiantly. "She's been helping me. She is what I wanted to talk to you about tonight."

Anabelle heard the magistrate's references to her. Her lips curled in disgust and she paused in her preparations, wondering idly if Ichobad would mind terribly if she poisoned his boss's dinner. The thought amused her, and even though she knew she wouldn't act on such a thought, it made her smile.  
_If he provokes me too much, I can always get him with dessert..._she mused.  
Out of the corner of her eye she caught Ichabod's gaze. She smiled a faint smile and took a deep breath, concentrating on the rise and fall of her chest and the tightening of her corset. This eve would be a trial of patience for her...and patience was not a virtue she possessed. Ichobad held her gaze, glancing away for a moment before meeting her eyes again.  
_I trust you..._she thought, hoping things would turn out well.

Nodding slightly, Ichabod led the magistrate to his seat at the table then turned to Anabelle.  
"When do you think dinner will be read-" he stumbled slightly on an upturned corner of the rug and had to catch himself on the table as his eyes glued to Anabelle's slightly disheveled look. A few strands of hair hung into her face as she cooked and her hands had a few smudges on them. The magistrate cleared his throat loudly, sounding impatient. Ichabod blinked around at him then straightened up. "Ahem... When will supper be set, Anabelle?"

"Right now," Anabelle didn't look up from her preparations as she balanced three plates piled high with food. "I wasn't sure what you wanted, so I made a bit of everything," she paused realizing she'd already said that phrase once today. "You never _did_ get around to telling me what sorts of food you prefer, Ichabod," she chided lightly. She smiled as she walked past him, setting down the plate in front of the magistrate.  
_Criticize my cooking and it's the last thing you will say,_ she thought, masking her dislike with a sweet smile. Surely Ichabod, with all his contraptions and inventing, surely he had toxic chemicals around here somewhere. If not, she knew where to find others. Just in case.  
But, for Ichabod's sake, she would behave herself as long as she could.

Ichabod smiled as Anabelle took the seat in front of him, but before taking a bite, he gazed at the magistrate. His boss had already taken two bites and was chewing rather loudly and grossly, making Ichabod gag. Carefully, he opened his mouth to speak, clearing his throat first.  
"Sir... Anabelle here is my dear Katrina's cousin. I have good reason to believe...that she is in grave danger of the Horseman." The magistrate gazed at his Constable, but continued chewing. His face was rather expressionless.  
"Now, sir, I have a proposition to keep Anabelle safe. This may seem rather unorthodox and uncalled for, but the Horseman is difficult to evade, and this is the only way I can fool him." Still, the magistrate sat and chewed silently, waiting. "We need... well. We need to make people thank that Anabelle is Katrina. That she is my wife and that Katrina was the cousin..." Ichabod took a deep breath as his boss stopped chewing. "We...we, of course, at home would just be friends, and she would be Anabelle, but in public...the only people that know who she really is are herself, you, and I..." He bit his lip, unsure of how the magistrate would react.

Anabelle watched Ichabod as he explained, holding her breath as her heart raced once he again mentioned she'd have to play his wife. She quickly began taking deep, silent breaths, along with a sip of wine to keep from fainting again.  
Ichabod's eyes were glued to the magistrate as they awaited his comments. Anabelle watched in disgust as he shoveled another forkful into his mouth, chewing loudly. All of a sudden, she wished she had burnt the food, undercooked the vegetables, and watered the wine...anything was better than hearing him chew like a cow.

Finally, the old man swallowed, bits of food clinging to his with beard.  
"Alright, Crane... If you can pull this off, fine. For the sake of this young...," he glanced at Anabelle, "woman. However, I'm warning you. You make one false move, anything against the law, or policy, or manners, and there will be no promotion for you and you," he glared at Anabelle," you _will_ be tried for murder."

_Over your lard-encrusted dead body,_ Anabelle thought to herself as she merely smiled at the magistrate, before turning her eyes back to her meal. She picked listlessly at it, unable to eat much with the magistrate's disgusting chewing noises. She pushed her food around, occasionally taking a bite of something, but as for a meal, she would not eat this one, regardless of how long it took her to make.  
There was still some items she had made that hadn't appeared on the table. She would eat those instead, once the magistrate was gone and things were back to normal.  
_Normal._ Now there was an interesting thought. Nothing about her life had been normal since she saw Katrina the day before. And now she was sitting at a dinner table, about to start pretending to be her cousin, Ichabod's wife, and if she misbehaved the police would execute her for murder...if some mad Horseman didn't get her first. There was nothing normal about it at all.  
She refilled the magistrate's wine glass as he drained the first one. On the pretense of getting another brand of wine, she made her way to the kitchen were she drew a deep sigh of relief. As loud as his chewing was, the sickening noise didn't reach the kitchen. But, she couldn't leave Ichabod out there alone for long. Grabbing the coffee, she took a deep breath and went back into the dinning room.  
"Coffee, sir?" she asked, with a fake smile plastered on her lips. Judging by the look on Ichobad's face, he knew it was fake as well.

"No, no!" the magistrate blubbered, waving a hand at her. "No coffee. I do not drink that. Do you have any brandy?" Ichabod froze, looking at Anabelle, his eyes wide. Brandy? Yes, he had brandy, and sherry, always for guests, but was it wise to give the magistrate some? After a moment's thought, he nodded, standing up.  
"One moment, sir. I will fetch you some." The magistrate nodded, fixing Anabelle and Ichabod with an unpleasant, unimpressed gaze.

"Then I'll just take this back," Anabelle said, watching Ichabod disappear into the kitchen. She hurried after him, setting the coffee pot down on the stove.  
"You're not really going to give him brandy, are you?" she asked, her eyes wide with surprise at the idea. "He's probably got quite a store-room's worth in him already."

Ichabod shook his head.  
"No, he's sober, surprisingly," he whispered, leading her further from the door to insure the other man was out of earshot. "And yes, I'm afraid I must give him brandy. Otherwise, he will not be pleased. Nothing will happen, I promise you. Don't worry." He grabbed two bottles of brandy from the shelves and handed them to her before grabbing a bottle of sherry as will and a set of glass tumblers.

Anabelle glanced at him hesitantly before exiting into the room where the magistrate was noisily licking his fingers. She forced a smile on her lips, setting down the brandy in the center of the table. Then she began gathering the dinner dishes, noticing how little Ichobad ate as well.  
They would have a proper meal once the magistrate left, she decided as she headed back into the kitchen.  
She wasn't much for the common conceptions of women, particularly the idea that they belonged in kitchens and nurseries and should be seen and not heard. However, under present circumstances, she thought being silent was her best course of action. She would give this disturbingly grotesque gentleman no ammunition and she would not interfere with Ichabod's plan. Setting the dishes in the sink, she rubbed her temples and poked her head out. She caught Ichabod's attention and motioned for him to join her back in the kitchen.  
"Should I stay here?" she whispered, although she was sure the magistrate was thoroughly enjoying his brandy or sherry...probably both together. "Or would you prefer me to join you?"

"Yes, stay, please. Don't leave me alone with him." Ichabod winced, realizing how childish that sounded. "I'm sorry. If you don't want to stay, you may do whatever you wish, but..." He glanced back at the doorway and winced as he heard the shattering of glass as the magistrate dropped a tumbler. Sighing, Ichabod ran his fingers through his black hair. "I'm not going to make you stay, but do decide quickly. I hope he doesn't stay for long. This is appalling." Just then, there came the gurgling voice of Ichabod's superior from the sitting room where they had moved to with the spirits.  
"Do join me fer a glhiccupass, Crane! hiccup Very fine sherry you have here!"

Anabelle glanced out towards the dinning room before glancing back at Ichabod. "I will stay with you," she answered in a hushed tone. "I just was unsure of typical protocol with regards to women, men, and alcohol. I haven't any family anymore and, well, I just didn't know," she confessed. "But I won't leave you alone with him."

"Thank you," Ichabod breathed, before returning to his chair in the sitting room. "I won't join you in drinking, sir. I don't much like the stuff mys-"  
"Nonsense!" the man cried in a jovial manner not usual to him. "Here, have some of the strong stuff! You will love it!"  
"I really-"  
"Drink!" It was more of a command now than an offer. Ichabod glanced at Anabelle briefly before taking the tumbler the magistrate handed him. He hesitated, looking like he might be ill, then swung his head back and drank it in one gulp. His head swirled violently and he cringed as the strong liquid burned his throat, but he swallowed successfully. He looked up, through watering eyes at the magistrate, who was grinning broadly.  
"Good man! Here's another!" He filled the glass again, then added, "And you may want to drink this one a little slower."

Anabelle stared at Ichabod as he tossed back the first glass. She remembered him telling her he didn't drink anything but wine since he was fifteen.  
Now that she was out of the menacing eye of the magistrate, she relaxed in a nearby chair, picking up a nearby book and pretending to read as she secretly kept an eye on Ichobad.  
Once or twice he caught her gaze. She arched a questioning glance as he was poured another glass of the "good stuff" as the magistrate called it.  
_Oh Ichobad, I hope you know what you're doing._

_-------------------------------------------------------------------_

Forty-five minutes passed and Ichabod was sitting, leaning forward and thumping his boss heartily on the back as they both laughed at what was apparently a hilarious joke. In reality, it hadn't been, but the two drunken men of law found it quite exceedingly amusing. Finally, Ichabod leaned back in his chair, finishing off his ninth tumbler full of spirit, and the magistrate stood up, looking very relaxed.  
"Sadly, m'boy, I must be off! Lots of work t'be done, 'n' with all this...this...Horsemen, parading abot the villig." He was very drunk, but so was Ichabod, for from his seat, the Constable nodded and waved off the superior at the door, leaning heavily on the doorframe and relying on it for his support. Then he turned to Anabelle who was still sitting a reading, and squinted at her.

Anabelle sighed in relief as the magistrate left. She closed her book and looked over at Ichabod. She shook her head. He was clinging to the doorframe, drunk. Well, at least this time, she could keep him away from carriages and from breaking his arm again.

Ichabod was stepping slowly towards Anabelle and the chaise on which she sat, looking thoughtful. At long last, he reached the chaise and sat down on the far end, smiling stupidly.  
"How was your e'ening so far, then?" he muttered, listing towards her slightly.

"Well, the magistrate said he'd play along, I could barely eat a thing for his revolting display of table manners, you were a nervous wreck, and now, Ichabod, dear, I think you're drunk," Anabelle reached out to tenderly brush back a stray lock of black hair from his forehead. "But I won't allow you near any carriages, don't worry," she smiled.

Ichabod hadn't seemed to have heard a single word she had said, or it was as if she was speaking a completely foreign language. Taking her hand as it passed by his face, he intertwined his fingers with her and peered at her hand, tickling the fingers of his other hand down her wrist and forearm. As though by accident, he planted a soft kiss on the back of her hand, then another, and another.  
"'M not drunk," he mumbled between kisses as he worked his way across the back of her hand and up her wrist slowly.

Anabelle let out a soft gasp as Ichabod's lips pressed against her skin, but she couldn't pull away. Actually she wasn't sure if she could or if she simply didn't want to do so. She could only stare at him for a moment before she found her voice.  
"You must be drunk," her voice faltered as he pressed his lips again to her wrist. "I'm Anabelle, remember?"

"Mh-hm, Anabelle. I know," he whispered, lifting his face to look at her. "And I am not drunk... I haven't been drunk since I was fifteen." He scooted closer to her on the chaise, taking her hands in his and pulling her closer to him. Without another word, he leaned into her and pressed his lips gently to hers, begging her to accept him. His hands found their way about her waist, holding her against him as he pressed kisses to her lips again and again.

Anabelle let out a shuddering breath, unintentionally parting her lips as she did so. Her hands tangled in Ichabod's black locks, even though her mind was screaming at her to pull away, to run upstairs, to not let him kiss her this way. However, the touch of his lips as they pressed softly into hers rendered all rational thought impossible. When being kissed with such tenderness, who wanted to think rationally?

Immediately, Ichabod took advantage of her parted lips, sinking into a fervent exploration of her mouth. His arms wrapped further around her waist and he lifted her up, off the chaise, standing up himself. He left one knee on the chaise to keep himself up straight and pulled away from his lips just enough to whisper, "Upstairs." He smashed his lips to hers again, wanting to turn every millimeter of her mouth.

Anabelle heard herself murmur an ascent before his lips reclaimed hers. She was shuddering again in his arms, and the voice in her head that told her to pull away was being drowned out by the thundering of her heart in her chest...or was that his? Blindly following his lead, she tripped up the stairs, completely wrapped up in the passionate kisses he pressed to her lips.

Finally, Ichabod had pulled Anabelle with him to the master bedroom. Gently, he lowered her onto the bed, one hand sliding over the corset he wore and quickly untying the stays.  
"Anabelle," he murmured, running his lips down her jawline and to her earlobe. He kissed her earlobe for a moment, then her neck, down to her shoulder, which he had pulled the dress sleeve from.

Anabelle's eyes flew open as Ichabod began to draw in her skin, leaving behind a perfectly formed purple mark. His hands drifted over her frame, resting finally on her ribcage.  
The little nagging voice inside her head was back, and much louder this time. They had to stop. Ichabod had too much brandy and Anabelle was certainly drunk off of his kiss. This wasn't how she wanted things to be and she was fairly certain he wouldn't want it this way either.  
Finally finding her voice, she murmured his name only to have his lips return to hers, once again silencing her reluctance as she sank further into the mattress.

Ichabod had already removed the green corset from her body and had started on her chemise by the time the hesitation in her kiss was realized by him. He could feel her body beneath him go from utterly relaxed to tense, as though it could not decide. He pushed himself up slightly and looked down at her, frowning and his lips slightly red.  
"You alright, Anabelle?" he asked, and despite his drunken state, his voice was tender.

She smiled a small, wistful smile up at him, staring deep into his eyes. Reaching up, she touched his swollen lips with her fingers, running her thumb gently over the lower as he parted them. Tilting her chin up, she touched her lips to his before laying back to meet his eyes again. Anabelle placed her hands on his face, her thumb running across his cheekbone.  
"Ichabod," she began, surprised that her voice was faltering. "Could...could you just hold me close for a while?"

Ichabod furrowed his eyebrows momentarily, but nodded. He rolled off of her slowly, bouncing a bit on the bed as he landed on his side and pulled her over to him again. One arm wrapped securely about her waist, while the other wound under her arms, hugging her tightly.  
"Wha's wrong?" he asked, his speech slurred. "Why didn't you want to...?"

Anabelle nudged herself closer into his arms, one hand pillowing her head as she ran her fingers through his hair. Again she brushed her lips against his.  
"Please don't be angry with me, Ichabod," she whispered, tilting her head so that it rested beneath his chin. She could feel the heat from his body warming her.  
Then she had an idea.  
Lifting her head back to meet his eyes, she moved one finger slowly up and down the bridge of his nose, not stopping the motion as she watched his eyelids start to droop. His breathing leveled off slightly, becoming more rhythmic. Still Anabelle did not stop trailing her finger up and down his nose.

Ichabod's arm relaxed around her, though they remained wrapped there. His eyes closed completely and his head lolled forward slightly off the pillow. He had fallen into a sweet, dreamless sleep, helping of course by the liquor and constant massage on his nose. His forehead had rested on hers, so that she could feel every breath from him.

Anabelle had no idea how much time had passed when her eyelids fluttered open. She didn't even remember falling asleep, but smiled when she realized that Ichabod's arms were still holding her close. She lay in his arms listening to his heartbeat. Suddenly another sound caught her ears.   
Hooves on cobblestone...  
...At this late hour...  
Anabelle jumped out of bed, grabbing a stick of chalk form her bag. She ran to the door of the master bedroom and began to draw upon the doorframe. She had to be quick, yet one mistake could cost them both dearly. She checked her work--nothing amiss.  
Hastily returning to the bedroom, her eyes fell upon Ichabod still sleeping. Her hand reached into her pocket. This was not how she had hoped to do this, but his safety was too valuable to wait.  
Her fingers closed around the larger of the two bands. She pulled it out and quickly slipped it on his left ring finger. Immediately she jammed the smaller band onto her finger as a warm surge flooded through her veins.  
She lay back down beside him, watching him sleep. Leaning forward, she placed a kiss on his forehead as she felt him move his arm back to its original resting place about her waist, pulling her body flat against his once more. His other hand wound back under her arm. The sound of his breath and the warmth of being in his arms helped her to relax. Anabelle rested her hand on his bicep. Finally she was lulled to sleep.


	5. A Mile in Her Shoes

Morning rose to light the city and the little house, in which two forms still lie in bed, entwined in each other's arms. While one lay quiet, the other had already begun to stir. Ichabod opened one dreary eye halfway, but groaned and shut it again before his eyes even had time to focus on where he was, or who he was with. She was barely aware of someone in his arms, but his head felt like it was being cleaved into two with the Horseman's ax.  
"Katrina?" he mumbled, rubbing his closed eye with one hand. "Coffee," he whispered. "I need coffee... Oh, my head..."

Anabelle heard a familiar voice mumbling, and could feel the warmth of the sun pouring through the windows. However, she did not want to stir. She was warm and comfortable, and had actually slept the night before. She shifted closer to the source of the warmth that was beside her, rolling her shoulder carelessly as she did so, exposing her skin and the purple blemish that could be found there.

"Katrina, please!" Ichabod said, raising his voice a little. "Please, go get me some-" He froze in midsentence, all the memories of the previous few days, save for a few hours of last night, came rushing back to him. He gasped. Katrina was dead... then who...?  
"Anabelle?" he whispered urgently, his eyes shooting open. Oh no... Oh _God_! What had happened? He was... was in bed with her, and... He gasped, then groaned blinking at the purple mark on her shoulder. What an idiot he was! How far had it gotten?  
He looked down at himself and then to her. He was still fully clothed and she was as well, for the most part. He sighed in utter relief, but a moment later, he was starring at his own hand. Then he grabbed hers and looked it over as well. They were wearing matching wedding bands.  
"What on Earth _happened_ last night?!" he exclaimed, blinking back the tears the came to his eyes from a rather nasty hangover.

Anabelle forced her eyes open, squinting into the painfully bright morning light to glance up at a panicked Ichobad. She tried to pull her hand to rub the sleep from her eyes, only to find it firm in his grasp. She blinked and forced her eyes to open again, meeting his startled expression. He looked like he could faint.  
"Before you get to thinking what I believe you're thinking, nothing happened," her gaze followed his to the mark on her shoulder. She twisted her neck awkwardly to see what he was staring at. "Alright, that happened, but nothing more than kisses. I told you that you were drunk," she sighed, shaking her head softly her heart growing heavy and her eyes brimming with tears.  
He was always going to see her as Katrina...

Ichabod blinked, unsure of what to say. Finally, he looked down at her, releasing her hand.  
"I am... so sorry, Anabelle!" he said softly, eyes wide. "That will never happen again, I promise you!" He sat up and scooted his feet off the bed, his face in his hands. "I wish the Horseman would get rid of that bloody magistrate...," he said. "And you! I can't believe you let me drink that much... Oh hell, I've made a mess of things. I am sorry. You should have stopped me sooner. I was drunk... Oh, I was drunk..." He sighed heavily, looking at the floor. "I'd rather have gotten hit by another carriage than force you to... to..."

"You forced me to do nothing," Anabelle heard herself admit before she could take back the words. She reached her hands around him to turn his face to her, making him meet her eyes. "You were gentle and stopped when I asked you to just keep me close. You were just," she shrugged her shoulders, "drunk."  
She paused.  
"I think you like brandy more than you will admit. Good thing there is no more left. The magistrate drank most of it."  
He didn't answer.  
She let her hands fall from his cheeks, climbing out of bed.  
"I'll go make you some coffee," she added more to the floorboards than to him. Oh how she wished just this once she could be Katrina and not have to bear his broken hearted looks when there was nothing she could do. He didn't want her. Anabelle was nothing but a friend. She turned to go.

"Wait," Ichabod said suddenly. "Anabelle, don't go yet." He reached out to take her hand gently, running his opposite hand through his hair. "I... I..."  
_I have no idea what to say_, he thought and then he sighed. His eyes closed and he tried to push away the nauseating headache threatening to overcome him.  
"Yes... coffee, please..." he whispered.

Gently she applied pressure to his hand before setting off to make coffee. She didn't doubt that he had one hell of a hangover, but she wondered what else he had been about to say. She pushed the thought from her mind and went about her preparations.  
A short while later, she returned to the bedroom with coffee and a bland breakfast in hand. Ichobad, it seemed, had fallen back to sleep, or perhaps he was merely warding off the bright sunlight. Anabelle set the meal down on the nightstand and went to the window, drawing the curtain against the morning light before turning back to the bed. She sat on the edge and looked at Ichobad. His brows were knit as if he were trying to figure something out. She reached her hand out and gently shook his shoulder.  
"Ichobad, there's coffee."

Ichabod whimpered pathetically as he lifted his head to squint at Anabelle.  
"Waking up in a hospital bed with a cast is preferably, if you are ever interested in exploring the affects of alcohol... Get yourself hit by a carriage." He sat up and took the coffee from her, sipping at it greedily. "I did not have a hangover when I broke my arm. The pain must have...must have...Ah." He closed his eyes and leant his head back on the headboard. It was another moment before he said anything, and when he did, his words surprised even him.  
"Come here and sit with me." He patted the bed beside him pulling on her hand gently. "Explain these," he added, looked at the rings on their hands.

Anabelle let herself be pulled to sit beside him on the bed as he tugged gently at her hand. What surprised her was how close Ichobad pulled her. Their legs were touching, but he didn't seem to notice as he waited for her to answer him.  
She thought for a moment, choosing her words carefully.  
"These were my parents wedding rings," she began, staring straight ahead. "I lost my mother when I was eleven. My father stopped wearing his ring two years after she died, why I do not know, but he did. So when I was seventeen I asked for the rings and he willingly gave them to me. I do not think he wanted the reminder of my mother anymore."  
She paused and glanced up at Ichobad as if asking if she should continue. His gaze was expectant, as if he was engraving this information into some recess of his mind. Taking a deep breath, Anabelle continued.  
"My mother always said that there was some special...I think she used to say 'magic'...in them," she closed her eyes trying to remember the exact words she heard her mother speak so often. "_There is magic in these, Anabelle. They hold the power of protection. As long as someone you care for has the other, no harm will come to either one._" The words were her mothers, the voice speaking was her own.  
Anabelle opened her eyes, idly twisting the ring about her finger. "I woke up last night and heard hooves on the cobblestones. It was so late, no one would have been riding at such an hour. I got frightened and remembered they were in my pocket. I was going to offer you my father's, since we're acting that we're married, but I decided safety couldn't wait. That's why you woke with the ring on."  
For a while longer, she stared ahead at the curtains that shielded the bright morning light from the chamber. She could hear Ichobad breathing beside her, but she didn't even glance his way, just waiting for his reply. She honestly didn't know how he was going to react...and that made her nervous.

Silently, Ichabod listened and let the information about the rings sink in. He took a large sip of coffee and nodded, looking over at her.  
"They are both protection and to help make this believable. I understand." He examined the ring carefully. "I've always wondered what it would be like when I finally had a ring on that finger. I suppose this isn't quite the same, but...for a very, very good cause." He took her hand carefully and lace their fingers together.  
"I don't know which might form a stronger partnership, a stronger bond. Marriage, or hardship? Or possibly fraud?" His eyes were searching deep into hers, trying to determine how she felt about it all, about him. "Thank you for the ring and... I am terribly sorry about whatever happened last night."

Anabelle loved the feeling of his fingers laced with hers. She was quite surprised he had made this move. Ichobad was so careful with her. She raked her lower lip through her teeth, unsure of what to say. For a moment she was just content to sit beside him, mulling over an answer in her mind. Finally she arrived at a response that she thought would be suitable.  
"You are welcome. I do hope you feel better, Ichobad. There is breakfast too, when you feel well enough to eat," she smiled as her tone shifted to an easy playfulness. "And as for the other, I know nothing of fraud or marriage, so we'll simply have to wait and see, won't we?"

Ichabod smiled.  
"Indeed we will," she said as he set down his empty coffee mug. He then picked up the plate and forked and started to eat quickly. He was starving, not having eaten much the previous dinner either, though his manners were considerably more present than the magistrate's had been.  
"At least all the brandy is gone," he said wanly. "Do not ever let me drink again. Even _if_ that man threatens to fire me, do not let me do it, I say!"

--------------------------------------------------------

She tugged the long sleeve of her white shirt further up her shoulder. Even though this dress was far simpler than any she had worn thus far, she didn't want Ichobad to worry about anyone seeing the mark on her shoulder. She tightened the strings of the bodice that lay over the blue dress. Anabelle smoothed her skirts, patiently waiting for Ichobad. Finally she hoisted herself onto the counter, her legs dangling over the edge as she idly fiddled with her wedding band, ignoring the loose hairs that were falling in front of her eyes.   
_This is going to be difficult. I just hope I remember that I am 'Katrina' now..._  
Her brows knit together as she chewed on her lower lip, carelessly swinging her legs back and forth as she fiddled with her ring.

"Alright, Anabelle, let's-" Ichabod stopped midsentence as he came around the corner from the stairs and laid his eyes on her. "-go," he finished dumbly, his jaw hanging a little. "You...you look very pretty," he stammered, blinking at the simple blue and white dress. After a moment, he blinked and forced himself to look away. He grabbed his bag from the table and hung a ring of keys on his belt, then turned back to her and tried to only look at her face.  
"Are you ready? We're going out this way." He pointed to the kitchen door. "I... well. I don't know if everything been cleaned up in front, and you don't need to see that."

Anabelle felt a smile tug at the corners of her mouth as she blushed at his words. He thought she looked pretty. She watched as he gathered his keys, idly swinging her legs to and fro, not really wanting to get off the counter yet. She wasn't sure how things would be out in public and delaying the inevitable sounded like a good idea to her.

When Ichabod had finished gathering his things, he turned and put his hand on the door handle. Then he looked over his shoulder, realizing Anabelle was not with him. With a small smile he turned back and stepped towards her.  
"We do not have to do this, you know, if you feel uncomfortable. I know this will be hard for you." He took her hands and gently pulled her off the counter. "But watch out for me... Make sure I don't call you Anabelle."

Anabelle noticed he kept his hands in hers as he spoke. She felt a slight shiver course through her. She met his eyes.  
"I think this will be harder on you than on me," she answered, letting her thumbs trace softly over the back of his palms. She paused, as if deciding on her next course of action.  
She rose up on tiptoe and placed a soft kiss to Ichobad's cheek, allowing her lips to linger only a moment before pulling away and glancing down before meeting his dark eyes again.  
"And I'll keep watch as best I can. I promise you."

Ichabod rose one hand to touch the place she had kissed, feeling a slight blush rise there. He smiled a bit stupidly.  
"Good, then. We're off." Pulling on one of her hands, he led her out the door. Once they were on the street, he wrapped one arm about her waist, his bag hanging from the opposite hand. A few passersby blinked amazedly, and one stopped and gawked openly. Ichabod tried his best to dodge them as he made his was to the police station. He had work to do, constables to convince the Anabelle was Katrina, papers to picks up, evidence to examine... It was going to be, all in all, a pretty busy day. Then, of course, on top of it all, he had to figure out who was controlling the Horseman. The monster that had made itself known in the city now, too.

Anabelle tried to focus on the bustle of the city, but found herself thinking only of Ichobad's hand as it rested on her waist. His grip was firm yet tender.  
_Perhaps this is what it's like to be in Katrina's shoes,_ she mused as they continued down the busy street.  
Anabelle quickly became lost in her thoughts and stopped paying attention to where Ichobad was guiding her. All of a sudden, she tripped on a loose cobblestone, grabbing onto Ichobad's shoulder in order to keep from losing her footing. His hand around her waist tightened as he turned to look at her, meeting her dark eyes that were widened in surprise. Upon seeing her startled expression, he laughed.  
"Do not you laugh, knave," she mockingly rebuked. "Should I tumble into the street, I will take you with me."  
...As long as he laughs again. She had to admit, the sound made her heart skip a beat. His features were warmer, his eyes sparkling with surpressed amusement. Surely tumbling into the street again would be worth the embarrassment if only Ichobad would laugh again.

Ichabod could not suppress another chuckle, try as he might. He pulled Anabelle to a stand and wrapped her arms around her waist. With a playful little grin, he pulled her to one side, further out of the middle of the street.  
"I cannot bear to hold my laugh, dear lady. Your lack of balance is nothing but amusing." He laughed silently for a second, then grew serious. "But you would not dare pull me into the cobbles. I am a constable, after all. That could get you into trouble. Assault, refusal to comply," he listed of a few crimes, including some made up ones. "You see, you shouldn't get yourself into trouble with a man of the l-" His foot caught under another loose stone and he feel backwards, landing hard on his back, and pulling her down on top of him by the waist. "-aw," he finished, blushing as he looked up at her and frowned a little.

Anabelle's breath caught in her throat as she landed on Ichobad's chest. His eyes seemed to draw her in, making her completely forget they were outside...in the street. She was content to do nothing but stare into his darkening eyes, to enjoy the sensation of her body rising and falling with each breath he took, to feel his hands tighten on her waist.  
Then the sound of a carriage down another street jolted her into reality. She scrambled to her feet, offering a hand to Ichobad, helping to pull him up as well. Once he was on his feet, they remained close...so close they were almost touching...Anabelle wondered who would glance away first. His hand was holding hers tightly, his breathing warm and sweet as it brushed past her face, gently tossling her stubborn hair that would not stay pinned back.  
_I do believe I could remain this way forever..._

After a few moments, Ichabod pulled away from her, looking like he was suffering from an intense internal argument. On one hand, the absolute absurdity of standing there with his dead fiancé's cousin, and on the other hand... she _was_ supposed to be Katrina now and the only way to convince everyone else that she was his wife was to act that way in public.  
Clearing his throat, Ichabod took her hand and led her on down the street. Not five minutes later a lower-ranking constable called out to him. He stopped, wrapping a protected arm about Anabelle's waist as the other constable jogged over.  
"Sir! Sir, are-" he paused and peered at Anabelle suspiciously. "W-where is Mrs. Crane?" he asked cautiously as though afraid he was being nosy.

Anabelle felt the color drain from her face as she heard the lower constable ask where Mrs. Crane was. Desperately she tried to keep calm, to let her actions betray nothing amiss.  
All of a sudden an idea came to her.  
She smiled a small smile and rested her head on Ichobad's shoulder, turning her face from the annoying little constable, her hand coming to rest lightly on the same shoulder as her head, her other hand holding his, intertwining their fingers.  
"Would you care to answer that, love, or do you wish me to?" she whispered, her breath hitting his neck.

Ichabod planted his feet hard into the ground to keep from shivering, but then he shook his head.  
"No, no, my dear. I shall answer him." He looked at the Constable and lifted an eyebrow. "Because if this man likes his job and title, he'd do better never to insult Mrs. Ichabod Crane, ever again." His hand tightened visibly around Anabelle's waist as he said this. The other man coughed, and his face turned bright read and he bowed his head to the woman beside his superior.  
"So sorry, ma'am! I didn't mean any disrespect, it is just that I thought that you had... well, lighter h-"  
"The young blond woman was Katrina's cousin," Ichabod interrupted, doing a very nice impression of annoyance. "Now, did you need something?"  
"Yes, sir. I need to know if you were going to the station, sir, because if so, you may want to go a different route. There was another murder last night."  
"We know about the girl. We have already avoided passing h-"  
"No, sir! A third murder, I mean... The magistrate isn't very pleased."  
"I'm surprise he isn't ruddy lying in bed with his head split in two...," Ichabod whispered into Anabelle's ear. "And I don't mean literally, of course."

Anabelle shivered as Ichobad's breath grazed her ear.  
_I have got to get used to him doing things like this...I cannot afford to shudder each time he touches me or his breath grazes my skin._  
Suddenly she tore her thoughts from her internal lecture to focus on what the other constable had said.  
...There had been another murder...  
She glanced at Ichobad, wondering what was going to happen next. Surely she would get underfoot at the station.  
"Would you prefer I returned home?" she asked, her tone low. "I do not wish to distract you from work...and it seems like you'll have your hands quite full without me getting underfoot."

At these words from her, Ichabod's hand tightened roughly around her wrist. Surely her fair skin would be bruised by the grip, but he did not care at the moment.  
"No, you are staying with me," he replied. He bid the other constable off and then pulled Anabelle to the side slightly. "I must have you with me. I cannot risk leaving you alone in the house. That is how...how..." He shook his head. "You need to stay in my line of sight at all times, Anabelle. Please." He sighed. "I shall keep you out of the way, and you will not be bothering a soul. They will be too busy to notice you. There is one thing however... I will need to go and examine the newest...victim. I hate to, but I have to take you with me. Perhaps you may help me?"

Anabelle winced at his grip on her wrist, biting down on the inside of her lip to take her mind off of the slight pain he was causing. She could tell he was agitated and surely would never do anything to hurt her on purpose.  
She knew her dark eyes were betraying fear of going with Ichobad. She was never good at masking her emotions.  
He was only doing this to protect her. Why he was going through so much trouble she didn't know, but she appreciated it.  
Anabelle nodded.   
"I will do what I can, Ichobad."

"Thank you," he whispered, releasing her wrist and taking her hand again gently. He leaned in a pressed a light kiss to her cheekbone, before turning and continuing once more down the street.

---------------------------------------

When they arrived at the station, it was almost suspiciously quiet inside. With one arm around Anabelle's waist, Ichabod poked his head inside and looked around. Several constables sat scribbling away in ledgers and notebooks. Through the open door of his office, in all his fat, drunken glory, sat the magistrate, slumped over on his desk and snoring. He was asleep. With a quick roll of the eyes to Anabelle, Ichabod pulled her inside quickly and headed for his own desk. He pulled another chair out for her and sat it close to his at the desk.  
"I'm afraid I don't know much for you to do while we are here, love... I won't be long, and then we will be off again. Does that sound alright?" He handed her some paper and a pen in case she wanted to draw. Then he sat down in his chair and began shuffling through and reading important looking papers and making odd noises as he jotted down notes and thoughts in her notebook.

Anabelle bit back a laugh as Ichobad rolled his eyes at the drunken, sleeping magistrate.  
_He did a far better job of poisoning himself than I could ever do..._she mused, not really paying attention to the maze of desks Ichobad led her through.  
They arrived at his desk and he was kind enough to supply her with pen and paper, should she wish to draw...but the only thing Anabelle could think of sketching were similar to those etched on the doorframe of the master bedroom and on the inside of her ring. Idly she toyed with the ring on her finger, realizing this was quickly becoming a habit of hers.  
Glancing to her side, she watched Ichobad as he scribbled into his ledger. She smiled. He really was dedicated to his work, and no doubt brilliant at what he did.  
Turning her gaze from him, she started making an examination of the precinct, the area in which they were currently sitting. She took in the appearance of the little constables around her, writing away like scribes. If she listened carefully, she could even hear the drunken snores of the magistrate. This amused her to know end, causing her to let out a laugh that was barely audible to anyone but Ichobad. Just to be on the safe side, she covered her mouth with the back of her hand, lowering her head so her stubborn dark locks hid her partially from view.

With raised eyebrows, Ichabod looked around at her. He wore a confused and slightly hurt expression, as though he thought he was the cause of her amusement. Setting down his pen, he reached over and pulled a few strands of her dark hair behind her ear so that he could see her face. He was frowning a little.  
"What's so amusing?" he asked quietly. "What did I do to make you laugh at me?"

"It's not you," she giggled, hearing one particularly loud snore erupt from the magistrate's office. "It appears to me that the magistrate is not a quiet sleeper. I do pity his wife."  
Another loud snort.  
"I didn't know men could make such noises. It cannot be the brandy. You didn't sound this way."

Smiling, Ichabod leaned towards her. He put his mouth close to her ar to ensure that no other could hear what he said and whispered to her.  
"I," he began indignantly, "Am also not a fat cow like he is." He looked around to check that still nobody else could hear and continued. "I may be a coward, dear, but not a cow." He chuckled.

Anabelle felt her lips part as his mouth grazed her ear as he whispered. How he could keep making her heart race was beyond her, but it was a sensation she did not want to wish away.  
She wet her lips, turning her head slightly and meeting his eyes. He was so close to her.  
"Personally, I don't think you either," she retorted with a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. Giving him a quick once-over, she blushed and met his eyes again. "You are certainly no cow. And I do not believe you are really a coward, Ichobad. I think you give yourself too little credit. You've put yourself in grave danger for my sake. That is something a coward does not do."

Ichabod glanced away sheepishly for a second. When he looked back, his eyes were sparkling.  
"At any rate, this is just his daily nap. It's always the same," he explained, smiling again. He leaned away slightly to avoid his lips touching her again. He felt a strong desire to do so again, but he kept himself in check. "When I was a younger constable, a few of my peers and I would sneak into his office and play pranks on him while he slept... Harmless jokes, of course. And never did we get caught." He glanced over at the open door of the magistrate's office. "I often wonder how he got that job. He must have been something else in his use..." He laughed again.

"And I wonder that you didn't get yourself fired," Anabelle stared at him wide-eyed, but smiling. "Tell me of these pranks. You don't seem to be someone who's into practical jokes...or perhaps you are that talented at concealing yourself, and in that case I think I'll be more wary of our sleeping arrangements," she added with a playful smirk.

"Ah... Well, I might add that I was more of an observer in those times. I did not do much myself to anger him, but it did provide a good laugh, usually." He idly traced his pen over a spare bit of parchment, not really paying much attention to what he was drawing. "And I was younger, rather immature and foolish." Looking around, he blinked at her. What was it about her that made him want to be so close to her? It must have been how she was acting. _Like Katrina_, he thought to himself harshly. _She is just being Katrina and I am acting too._

"It sounds as if we are playing our little story game," Anabelle said, turning the ring on her finger, wondering what seemed to cloud Ichobad's eyes. "Perhaps I should think of something to tell you of what I used to do when I was younger and rather immature and foolish."  
She paused to think of something particularly interesting.  
"My father and brother always like making bonfires on our property in the country. Nathaniel used to jump the flames and would tease me for not being able to do so as well. I even used to practice jumping the bonfire pit when I was supposed to be doing my chores, just waiting for the day when I would surprise him. A couple of months later we had another bonfire and Nathaniel even bet me his pocket money that I couldn't make it across. So I jumped."  
She took a deep breath.  
"Before you think I was triumphantly gloating on the other side, I did make it across, but my skirts caught fire and left me with a pretty nasty burn on the back of my ankle. Although, I did get Nathaniel's pocket money. I still have the book I spent his money on," she ended with a smile.

"You bought a book," Ichabod said, giving her a smile. "Very, very wise decision. I suppose you've liked reading for quite a long time, then. That is good to hear. Katrina-" he paused and looked about before leaning in again. He did not want to risk any of the officers hearing any of this. "Katrina used to read as well, late at night, though... though I am sure you already were aware of that." He shrugged and sighed, his warm breath hitting her face. "What book did you buy?"

"Oh yes," Anabelle answered, loving how his warm breath stirred her loosened hair. "I read all the time. I still do. The book I bought was Shakespeare's _Twelfth Night_. It started with simply liking the name Viola," she smiled. "But it turned out to be one of the best things I've ever read. When we go home, I'll show you my copy, if you'd like. I bought it used and it was years ago. It's tattered and the leather binding is worn, but it's something I always take with me. That and the wedding rings."

"I'd like that very much," Ichabod said, nodding. "I have never read it, myself. The only works of Shakespeare I know are a small number of sonnets, The Tempest, and one poem..." He thought hard for a moment, as though trying to pull some memory to the front of his mind. It must have been quite a struggle, for after a moment, she sighed. "I...cannot recall the name of that poem, either."

"You've read the sonnets?" Anabelle asked. "I wanted to purchase them, but Shakespeare is not readily available in the country. So I bought the only one the traveling book salesman had in his cart. I will gladly share it with you. It is an amusing story. I always wondered how Duke Orsino could not grasp how much in love Viola was with him...even if she was dressed as a lad, she spoke of love and emotions as a woman might."

Ichabod choked. His eyes grew wide and he stared at her.  
_Meaningless!_ he screamed at himself inside his head. _An absolute meaningless coincidence! It means nothing!_ He shook himself hard and scratched his forehead to breifly hide his eyes.  
"I'd... I'd like that," he said, referring to the play. "I might be able to dig of the book of sonnets, or _The Tempest_. I am sure they got moved into the new house. I doubt I would have sold them, anyways." He ran a hand through his hair. "I have many books. All in the library... You know you are welcome to any of them."

"I've seen _The Tempest_ once," Anabelle said. "I always felt sorry for Prospero. He had to give up all his magic...'drown his book,' I believe was the phrase. But I suppose that magic cannot, in fact, solve all one's problems," she twisted her ring around on her finger again. "Although it certainly has not done harm thus far."  
She paused, staring at her fingers as she nervously bent them.  
"Thank you for allowing me to use your library, Ichobad. I should like that very much. But I think I am keeping you from your work," she shifted her eyes toward the pile of papers on his desk. "I am distracting you, are I not?"

"Ah," Ichabod said, looking, too, at the many books and papers. He grimaced. "Well, yes, you are," he went on slowly, but he was shaking his head. "I'm grateful for the distraction though. I'm afraid desk work is rather dull." He paused, scratching his chin as he pulled his chair back closer to the desk. "I wouldn't have so much to do now, if I didn't always put it off for another day to go around on patrol or something. It seems to sort of... pile up." He rolled his eyes at himself before continuing to write neatly inside a ledger.

Anabelle watched as he set about returning to work, but caught his eyes when he glanced her way. He seemed quite reluctant to return to his paperwork. She leaned forward, close to his ear.  
"Don't let me keep you, Ichobad. I'm sure there are plenty of useful things for me to do...like planning dinner. Or something along those lines. But one of these days you'll have to tell me what you wish me to make," she teased. "Last time I asked we were too far concerned with the magistrate's impending visit," she paused and leaned back, her eyes wide with a terrifying thought that just occurred to her.  
"That's not going to be a re-occurring event, is it?"

Ichabod gagged at the thought and looked around at her incredulously. Did she really think he could handle another evening like that? Even before the brandy was brought out, it had been an awful experience.  
"Oh, goodness me, no!" he exclaimed quietly. "Do you think I am insane?" he asked. "I'm not inviting him to dinner, or to the house, ever again. And if I did, I would spare you the visit anyways and not ask you to cook.

"If I've said something amiss, forgive me," Anabelle said, startled by his tone. "I do not think you insane. Nor do I know anything about constables and whether the magistrate coming for dinner is commonplace."  
She knitted her dark brows together thinking over his offer to spare her.  
"And should it be required again, I will not let you face him alone," she whispered defiantly. "Besides, I promised you once that I would stay by you, and I do not remember revoking that promise. We will face him together, if need be."

Ichabod laughed lightly.  
"Let's be a bit more worried about the Horseman than our dear magistrate, An-"  
"Sir?"  
"Katrina," Ichabod corrected quickly, horrified that whoever was standing behind him might have heard him almost say Anabelle. He looked around and could not hold back a deep sigh of relief upon seeing young Masbeth standing there, looking a little ruffled.  
"Sir, you're needed at the crime scene. The other constables have been waiting." Ichabod nodded, looking happy to have a reason to leave his desk. He stood and offered Anabelle a hand up.  
"Coming, young Masbeth... And that is all very well, as I have something I need to tell you." He had suddenly remembered that Masbeth did not know the plan with Anabelle. In fact, he wasn't convinced that the boy even knew Anabelle. Without another word, he led the two out of the station and into an alley where nobody else would hear. I'm not sure if you two have met..." he started slowly. Anabelle, this is Rupert Masbeth. Young Masbeth, this is Anabelle. Katrina's cousin... And as I'm sure you have heard," he whispered, "Katrina is gone... For her own protection, Anabelle is now Katrina." He sighed.

"It's nice to meet you," Anabelle smiled at the young man. "Do they all call you Young Masbeth, or is that just one of Ichobad's quirks?"  
Just to make sure Ichobad didn't think she was being mean, she nudged his shoulder lightly and gave him a wink.

Ichabod frowned slightly, rolling his eyes. He had not even noticed he was doing that. He blushed lightly, but forced himself to smile.  
"I suppose it is a habit of mine. Sorry, y- er... Masbeth." He bit his lip, and looked at Anabelle.  
"It's no problem, sir. I don't mind." Masbeth smiled at Anabelle. "It's very nice to meet you, ma'am, but..." He looked at Ichabod, frowning. "What happened to Katrina?"  
"She..." Ichabod began but was unable to finish. He choked over his words, tearing up a little, before looking away and shaking his head. He hoped Anabelle would explain briefly, just to keep the lad from questioning further, but he could not say it himself, not again.

Anabelle's heart broke. Ichobad looked so grieved, so lost.  
"I ran into Katrina and the other constable that escorted her home," Anabelle began to explain. "I offered to fetch anything she needed and would meet her back at Ichobad's. She sent me on a commission, and when I returned she was gone and the house was in shambles. I don't know what happened to my cousin, but no one would believe I didn't have a hand in it. Therefore Ichobad thought up this plan, until we find the Horseman."  
Without even thinking about it, she placed a soothing hand on Ichobad's arm, her thumb rubbing his arm through the material of his shirt.

Masbeth nodded sadly and averted his eyes, hating to see his friend and master like this. Ichabod looked down at Anabelle's hand on his arm, then up at her. He was wearing an odd expression o his face, but after a moment, he masked it and turned to Masbeth again.  
"We should be heading out. Just remember that this is Katrina now." He took Anabelle's hand from his arm and squeezed it gently. "And, I may need to ask you to watch of the lady, young Masbeth, when we arrive at the...the body. It is not something she needs to see, and if she wishes not to do so..." He looked into Anabelle's eyes questioningly, almost apologetically, as Masbeth nodded.  
"I will, sir."

Anabelle let herself be led of in the direction of the latest victim, her hand still in Ichobad's.  
This has to be the strangest experience since Shakespeare. When she first read _Twelfth Night_ she never imagined living a similar situation. Now she was playing the part of her cousin, "married" to Ichobad, and what scared her most was how right it all felt...except being Katrina. Hearing Ichobad say her name just made her want to hear it all the more. However, hearing him call her Katrina just reminded her that she was not the one he wanted to be with. Silently she cursed herself for being so ridiculous, rolling her eyes as a small sigh escaping her lips.


	6. Dreams Heal Wounds

Chapter Six 

The crime scene was just the same as all the others. A body lying in the midst of a crowd of people, the head plain gone. Everything was the same, except for one slight difference. This victim, was a man.

Ichabod released Anabelle's hand far from the gruesome sight, but where he could still keep an eyes one her, and gave Masbeth a look that plainly said, "Stay with her." Then he moved, once more, to kneel beside the headless corpse, opening his bag. He was sure he didn't really _need_ to confirm all the things he already knew. If would be no different than the rest, quite the same. It was the Horseman, he knew, but doing these check gave him time to think while all the while looking like he was doing something useful and convincing the onlookers.

Four total victims, he thought as he watched the smoke rise from a "chemical reaction". The wife of a candidate running for mayor, a young girl, Katrina, and.. this man. Who was...

"Mister Alan Walker," said another constable behind him upon Ichabod's questioning look.

With a frown, Ichabod looked back down at the bare neck. Alan Walker... he was another candidate for mayor. That had to mean something... but what? Ichabod scratched his chin, out of things to do to make himself look impressive. He needed to search around, go to the city hall and get documents... the library maybe. He ran his fingers through his hair. They need to figure out something soon, or the magistrate would really be displeased, and he would be demoted, instead of promoted. What did these four have in common?

Anabelle did her best not to look at the corpse. The idea of seeing someone beheaded did not appeal to her senses; however, she did want to keep watch over Ichobad.  
From where she stood, removed with young Masbeth, she saw Ichobad study the body, finally rising and returning back to them with an expression that clearly stated this was just like every other Horseman attack he'd seen.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw something beside where Ichobad had been kneeling.

"Ichobad, I think you left something," she said as he approached, indicating to the forgotten article back at the body.

"Hm?" Ichabod furrowed is brows and looked around back to the body. Indeed, there was a little piece of crumpled paper lay on the ground, by Ichabod was sure it hadn't been his. Nonetheless, he quickly turned and head back towards the corpse. Bending down, he picked up the paper. By the time he had it unfolded and was scanning it, he had reached Anabelle and Masbeth's side again and was walking past the, intending them to follow.

"It's an...invitation," he said simply.

"An invitation?" Masbeth asked, raising an eyebrow. "To what?"

"To a conference of the candidates running for the mayor's office this term." Ichabod looked up and took in Anabelle's and Masbeth's confused faces. He sighed. "That," he nodded back to the body, "was Mr. Alan Walker, one of the eight current candidates." He thought for a second. "At least, I think there was eight. Seven now."

"Is this good news or bad?" Anabelle asked. "The invitation I mean."

Why would someone be after the mayoral candidates? And what did Katrina and the girl in front of Ichobad's house have to do with any of this?

"I... don't... know," Ichabod admitted slowly after a bit of a pregnant pause. He folded the invitation up and pocketing it. "None of this makes sense. Come on." Taking her hand again, he pulled the two of them down the street back towards the house. "I think we'll be dressing up tomorrow night... We've been invited to a conference." He wasn't really trying to be funny. In fact, he was feeling exceeding stressed. What the hell could all of this mean? What common ground did the four victims share? Katrina... What did _Katrina_ have to do with any of it?

Anabelle walked quickly beside Ichobad, lost in thought of her own. She had to admit the idea of attending this conference was rather daunting. However, she said she'd stay by him, and she was not one to go back on her word.

She raked her bottom lip through her teeth, wondering how a mayoral conference, two girls and a headless Horseman all fit together.

The next afternoon, Ichabod stood before a mirror, trying to make his hair appear presentable. After about fifteen minutes, it still would not stay swept back or even remotely neat looking. With a frustrated noise, he threw the comb at the mirror, making it bounce off with a loud "pang". He stress was really starting to get to him, or was that heartbreak? He was shaking quite often, he hadn't gotten much sleep, and now he was taking out his anger on inanimate objects. Ichabod was sure he would have quite a few gray hairs by the end of the night, at least. Sitting heavily on the edge of his bed in the guestroom, he put his face in his hands, gripping handfuls of his dark, messy hair to try and relieve his stress, but it was no good. The stress wouldn't go away until he had the Horseman back in hell, or he was dead himself. _A welcome release_, he thought bitterly, shaking his head.

Anabelle was not fairing much better. She wanted to be back in her house, with her things, in her room, her bed. Most of all she wanted to be far from the thoughts of Ichobad that would not desist their relentless bombardment of her mind.

Finally she managed to get her skirts tied tightly. Her fingers were sore.

_I have no desire to go to this stupid conference anyway,_ she thought, falling back in a very ungraceful manner on the bed, kicking her legs up as she landed on her stomach, hiding her head under the pillow. _I don't want to go. I don't want to be Katrina. I just want to go home and to hell with the Horseman. Surely I have never done a thing to him...or Katrina...yet in the eyes of the law; I'm as good as guilty._

Unfortunately, thinking about the law only brought her mind back to Ichobad. Clenching her eyes tight, she let out a frustrated groan that was muffled beneath the pillow.  
She most certainly did not wish to go.

Giving up on his unruly hair altogether, Ichabod stood and decided to go see how Anabelle was doing. He frowned when he saw her splayed over the bed, her head invisible under a pillow. He raised an eyebrow and rested his head against the doorframe, watching her. What was it about her that made him so... sure of everything? Those last few words echoed in his mind. Sure of everything... Are you always so sure of everything? Unconsciously, Ichabod place a hand over his heart, a memory flickering through his mind.

_"Keep it close to your heart, it is sure protection against harm."_ Katrina had spoken those words upon Ichabod's first visit to Sleepy Hollow. Slowly, he slipped a hand into his coat and pulled out the book that she had given him on that occasion. It still held the bullet that Lady Van Tassel had shot him with, and this little book had saved him. If he worked at it, he could pry open the covers and many of the pages, though they all had an obvious hole through them. With a sigh, he put it back into his coat and instead looked at the ring on his finger. He slipped it off and examined it closely. There we small marking inside and, frowning, Ichabod realized there were marking drawn in chalk on the door as well. He looked at Anabelle and squinted. She was hiding something from him.

Anabelle heard footsteps in the corridor, but she didn't lift her head. Maybe if she just ignored it all, she would wake in her bed and laugh about the maddening dream she had...although there had been a few incidents that she would not wish away for anything.  
One rebellious tear coursed down her cheek, hitting the soft blankets below her. Then another, and another. For once she didn't care. No one could see her with her head hidden beneath the pillow. She just lay still and let them fall.

"Anabelle?" Ichabod asked gently. He tore his eyes from the symbols on the door and walked toward the bed. "Anabelle, we need to leave soon. Are you ready to-" he froze, his gaze suddenly very concerned. "Are you alright?" he asked. He couldn't see her crying, but he could her the unevenness in her breathing. "What's wrong, Anabelle? Hey." He sat on the bed and rested a hand on her upper back; rubbing it in what he hoped was a comforting way. "Look at me. What is wrong?"

Anabelle started when she heard his voice.

_Not good. Not good!_ her mind yelled. She didn't want him seeing her cry. Compared to what he was going through, she had no reason...no right...to be in tears.

Then his hand was rubbing her back, his touch making her forget all her troubles. Her breath started to return to normal and she snuck her hand under the pillow, furiously wiping away her tears. Slowly she pulled the pillow from over her head, keeping her eyes stubbornly closed. She felt horrible for crying.

Her eyelids fluttered open, and she hesitated before meeting Ichobad's eyes, her full of apology.

"Are you okay?" Ichabod asked again, putting a hand on her shoulder. "You had me worried there for a minute." He looked at the clock on the wall. "We should leave soon, but if you want, we can be late. It is not that important. If you need to rest a bit, I will leave you be and get you in half an hour." He did not, however, move from his spot on the bed. Instead, he searched her eyes deeply. Her eyes were such a beautiful chocolate color... Why was he so drawn to them? And her lips... those perfect, cherry lips. Ichabod stood quickly from the bed, forehead creased deeply. He was confusing himself. He was desperate to have Katrina back and consequently was noticing certain features of Anabelle more. Yes, that was it. He just wanted Katrina back, but he would have to get used to it... Katrina was not coming back.

Anabelle was about to reveal what was on her mind, refusing to leave her in peace. Then she noticed the changing look in Ichobad's eyes as he abruptly stood.

Telling him would do no good at all. In fact, she realized it would probably only make things worse.

Instead she rose, smoothed out the skirts of her dark dress, and wet her lips.  
"I'm all right," she didn't meet his eyes. "We can go."

"Alright," Ichabod said, making for the door. When he reached the doorframe, however, he stopped and glanced at the symbols drawn there. With a shrug, he rushed past them and to the top of the stars, forcing himself not to look back at Anabelle. He had to start controlling the urge to stare at her better. He had to control his desire to be near her. It wasn't real; it was just him missing Katrina.

"Are you ready to leave, young Masbeth?" he asked the lad when he reached the bottom of the staircase. Masbeth looked up and nodded, looking very smart indeed in his best suit, his new constable's uniform. With one last disgusted look at his hair in the window, Ichabod led the two out into the street, heading for the city hall, where the conference was to be held.

Anabelle stared off to the side, not really paying attention to where they were going. She hadn't said a word to either of her companions and, from the looks of it, wasn't going to for a while still. She was lost in the labyrinth of her mind, mulling over Ichobad's strange behavior.

_I'm sure he'd much rather be taking Katrina to this than me,_ she thought, despondently. _I shouldn't have ever left her._

She glanced sideways at Ichobad, unable to read his expression. She studied his profile for a moment, as if to note any change. Giving up she reverted her gaze and just continued walking.

A moment after Anabelle looked away, Ichabod's head turned to look at her. He took in the almost expressionless face and the deep, emotional eyes. He sighed. Why could life not just be simple? It was obvious she hated this. She hated being dragged to this conference, she hated living in his house, and she hated being Katrina. He bit his lip. There was just nothing for it. It had to happen, for her own protection. Ichabod was not about to leave another woman that he c-

"Oof!" Ichabod's foot caught on the curb as he kept walking, but was not watching where his steps took him. He tripped the raised sidewalk and feel hard on his knees. He winced and could feel the fabric tear, as did his flesh, and blood dripping down his calf. He swore quietly, shifting over onto his backside to examine is bleeding knee, his face bright red from embarrassment.

Immediately Anabelle was at his side. She couldn't help it, her body responded moments before her mind grasped the situation.

"Are you all right?" she asked, sounding much more worried than she anticipated. "Masbeth, can you fetch a doctor?"

Instantly young Masbeth was off.

She placed her hands on either side of the torn fabric of his trousers. This did not look good. Anabelle turned and there was a loud rip as she tore off part of her skirts, folding it twice over and meeting Ichobad's eyes.

"I will try not to press too hard," she told him apologetically before applying pressure in hopes of lessening the bleeding.

Ichabod gritted his teeth, looking determinedly anywhere but down at his wounded knee. His hands worked furiously, clenching and unclenching at she tried to help.

"I... I didn't need a doctor," he muttered through clamped jaws as he tried to push away the pain shooting up his leg. "It was just a tumble. It can't be that bad. Ah!" His hand shot out to grab at her wrist and pull her hand away, but she stayed firmly pressing on the bloodied, torn skin.

"You do too," Anabelle argued, keeping one hand on his knee, pressing the fabric to the wound. The other wound around the back of his head, pulling his forehead to her lips. She kissed his forehead before resting it against her own.

"You will be all right, I promise," she breathed, hoping it offered some comfort.

Ichabod stared at her, into those dark brown eyes. He held his breath for a second, and then felt himself leaning into her and kissing her softly on the lips before giving it a second thought. He pulled away quickly. The next second, he had jumped at a shout from their right.

"Sir! Mis- Mrs. Crane!" Masbeth was back, followed quickly by a doctor about Ichabod's age. By the looks on their faces, they had seen what had just happened. Ichabod groaned inwardly and turned his head away as the doctor kneels beside Anabelle and looked over his need quickly. Part of him wished he could just sink away and act like nothing had happened, and not have to endure the pain and humiliation of having the skin on his knee almost tattered away.

Quickly yielding her makeshift bandage to the doctor, Anabelle moved to sit beside Ichobad, her hand covering his. She could feel how tightly he had it clenched. He must be in so much more pain than he let on. Anabelle felt a wave of helplessness come over her. What she knew about medicine was contained in a few volumes back at Ichobad's house. There was nothing readily available to alleviate any of his pain. She shifted so he could lean up against her shoulder, one of her hands resting on his shoulder while the other slid down his arm to rest atop his clenched fist.

Her lips burned from when he touched them with his own. She pushed the thought from her head. Now was not the time to dwell on kisses. She lightly squeezed his shoulder, feeling him rest his head back against hers, his eyes closing.

Ichabod's breathing grew slightly labored as he tried to hide the pain. The raw flesh of his knee smarted as the doctor began cleaning the wound. Suddenly, the agonizing sting increased tenfold. Ichabod cried out in both surprise and pain and grabbed tightly onto Anabelle's hand.

"Mr. Crane, please. Try to relax. I need to clean the knee with alcohol to avoid infection and it will need to be stitched," the doctor said. Ichabod looked pleadingly at Anabelle, as if asking her to take the pain away. Young Masbeth had stepped back to give his master space. The doctor was as carefully at he could removing dirt, germs, and dead skin from the bloody knee then took out a needle and thread. Ichabod tilted his head back, eyes clamped tightly shut. His breathing fluttered for a moment, and he fainted right into Anabelle's lap.

Anabelle looked down at Ichobad's pale cheeks as he lay unconscious. She passed a hand over his forehead, smoothing back his unruly hair. He was out cold, but at least his mind wasn't registering pain. Anabelle did not take her eyes from his face as the doctor finished closing the wound.

"Masbeth, I hate to ask this," she looked up at the young constable. "Can you find a carriage? I should take him home," she turned her eyes back to Ichobad. "He really has not had an easy time lately."

With the help of young Masbeth, Ichobad was soon resting on the master bed, his leg elevated on several pillows. Masbeth agreed to keep watch while Anabelle prepared something for the pain Ichabod would be in when he woke. Stealing one of her books, she crept downstairs and soon returned with a pitcher and a mug.

"Masbeth, I cannot thank you enough for you assistance today," she began. "Is there something I can do to make up for your troubles?"

"Just see that he is all right," young Masbeth smiled before turning to go. "I shall be available if you need me."

"Thank you," Anabelle turned from the young constable to Ichobad. He looked so peaceful when he was sleeping. "I should be all right, I think."

With a nod and a slight bow, young Masbeth departed.

Anabelle pulled up a chair and sat beside Ichobad, her hand reaching for his, lacing their fingers together. With the other hand, she flipped open her worn and tattered copy of _Twelfth Night_ and waited for Ichobad to wake.

It was quite a long while before Ichabod came to. When he did, the reactions occurred slowly. His eyes fluttered open and he squinted confusedly up at the ceiling for a moment. Then his face contorted and he was sent into stages of whimpering and trembling. He had not spotted Anabelle; on the contrary, he was in too much pain to notice much for than the dull gray color of the ceiling. His knee bent unintentionally, pulling up under his chin. However, this action only made the pain worse and he nearly screamed.

A heartbreaking whimper drew her attention and she saw Ichobad writhing in pain on the bed. In an instant, she had discarded her book and was sitting beside him on the bed, one hand cupping his cheek, running her thumb back and forth across his cheekbone. The other quickly grabbed the mug that held a thick, dark liquid. She moved to lean against the headboard, urging Ichobad to rest his head against her shoulder, being as gentle and keeping him as still as she could. Anabelle set the rim of the mug to his lips.

"Ichobad," she murmured, her voice low. "I need you to drink this for me."

She could feel his body tense, either with pain or hesitation she didn't know, but either way, it was not good.

"Please," Anabelle pleaded, her mouth at his ear. "It will ease the pain and make you sleep. Please, Ichobad, trust me."

As if to prove her good intentions, she pressed her lips to his cheekbone in a rapid succession of little kisses. She felt some of the tension in his body abate, and urged the mug to his lips again. This time he was able to drink, his body slowly becoming more and more relaxed as he leaned further against her. The mug finished, she set it aside, wrapping her arms protectively around him, taking his hand. Anabelle could feel when he would tense from the pain, but at least it was no longer constant. She rested her cheek on the top of his head waiting for sleep to claim him.

"Sweet dreams, Ichobad," she whispered.

Just before he drifted off, Ichabod became more aware than ever of warm arms around in and gentle lips at his ears. He had barely time to react before the drink took full affect and he was fast asleep in her arms. And sweet dreams, indeed, did he have. 

_He was sitting at the kitchen table, fiddling with a new design for an instrument when someone's arms wrapped calmly and affectionately around him. He turned his head to meet the soft lips in a sweet kiss, smiling to himself. His hands were lost as they ran through the velveteen, dark hair, entangling themselves in it._

_He stood, arms closing about the woman's waist and pulling her to him tightly, deepening their kiss. After a few seconds, in the dream, Ichabod pulled away and grinned down at the young woman in his arms._

_"Good morning, Anabelle," the words echoed through Ichabod's asleep and weary mind, the name particularly pronounced. "Anabelle..."_

"Anabelle..." Ichabod whispered out loud, turning his head slightly so that his face was buried against her neck, and slept on.

Anabelle heard him murmur her name, her heart stopping in her chest. Ichobad had never spoken her name as he slept...it had always been Katrina...His breath was warm on her neck, sending shivers through her. She loosened her hold on him, letting one hand become lost in his hair, smoothing it back, tangling her fingers in it, watching out of the corner of her eye how it slipped through her fingers.

Thoughts ran rampant through her mind as she tried to decipher what she felt for this man...She hated seeing him upset and sad. Seeing him in pain drove her nearly mad. Anabelle finally decided she cared for him. However, how much, she would not allow herself to ponder.

Ichobad continued to sleep, his breathing rhythmic and warm on her skin.

Ichabod began to toss and turn within his dreams, making odd noises. At one point, he rolled over and wrapped his arms slowly around one of Anabelle's legs, resting his cheek atop her thigh. In his sleep, he smiled faintly, and then lay perfectly still.

Anabelle froze. She couldn't imagine what dreams Ichobad must be having. She heard him sigh softly. It was then that she remembered to breathe.

An hour later, Ichabod woke again. His breathing was a little heavy and he was disoriented. Glancing around from his spot on Anabelle's lap, his eyebrows furrowed deeply. He moaned from the dull pain throughout his leg, but shook it off. It was not nearly as bad as it had been. Slowly, he sat up, one hand still resting on Anabelle's thigh. It had not really even occurred to him who she was or that she was even there. He looked down at his knees, decked out in thick bandaging that barely permitted him to bend it. He rested his head back, letting the remainder of the odd sleep that had possessed him drain from his eyes and mind. Another few seconds passed before he became aware of the other breathing being beside him. He looked around with surprised eyes that scanned quickly over Anabelle, but he wasn't altogether shocked to see her there. He forced himself to smile down at her, taking his hand away from her leg and setting it in his own lap.

"You... You didn't feel obligated to stay with me, I hope?"

With a small smile, and tell-tale blush, Anabelle shook her head. "No," she answered softly. "I did not feel obligated. I wanted to stay with you." She paused. "How are you feeling? Can I get you anything? Are you in pain?" She knew she was firing questions, but she was nervous. His deep chocolate eyes bore into her, almost as if he knew something that she herself did not know. She felt so uncertain about everything except that she wanted to be close to him as long as he would allow her to remain so.

"Ichabod shook his head quickly.

"No, no. It's more discomfort than pain..." He tenderly ran a hand over his bandage, thinking. Why did he feel so drowsy? He usually was able to awaken and be well-alive immediately after. Now, he felt as if he had been drugged. Shaking in from his mind, he shrugged.

"Water would be good at some point, but..." He took her hand. "Not yet. Stay here a little longer, if...if you want to." He paused. "Anabelle... did the doctor give me anything? Any medicine to help the pain?"

Anabelle gently slipped her hand from his, beginning to twist her fingers around as she always did when she was nervous.

_Well, I've made it this far,_ she thought, her eyes darting to her hands. _Ichobad is a constable. He was bound to figure it out sooner or later._

"No, Ichobad," she shook her head, dark waves covering her face. "The doctor gave you nothing."

The next bit was barely audible.

"I did."

Ichabod stiffened for a second, scraping his fingernails of the fabric of his pants leg. He looked up at the ceiling. She had given him...something.

"C-can I ask what...was _in_ whatever you gave me?" He looked down at her, his face stressed. He felt a little uneasy all of a sudden, but he tried to convince himself that it was all unfounded. She had only been trying to help whatever she hd given him, and it had helped. The pain was not nearly as bad anymore, and seemed to be getting better. The only side affect was that he felt drowsy. He knew his reaction time was less now, and he felt unable to function. Unable to protect.

"I doubt this will assuage your apprehension, but it was made with items you already had in your kitchen," Anabelle couldn't look at him, feeling very small indeed. "It's simply a mixture of herbs. I wouldn't have ever given it to you if I hadn't know it would work. It was something my mother used to make for me when I was in pain."

Her hand raked through her hair, tugging at the wavy locks.

"It is supposed to ease the pain and help you to sleep...it should wear off soon, I'd imagine."

For a while neither spoke.

"I apologize if I did something wrong, Ichobad," Anabelle began twisting her fingers again. "I couldn't bear to see you in so much pain."

Ichabod's absent scratching and turned to a anxious drumming of fingers on his leg.

"And... those drawn on the doors? I saw them this morning. What are those?" He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the bullet-pierced book. "This was Katrina's. It had symbols and things similar to those... But I obviously cannot look in it anymore." He pointed to the door. "What do those drawings mean?"

Anabelle glanced up, taking the book from Ichobad. Reverently she turned it over in her hands, marveling at the bullet hole in the center. A faint smile passed over her lips before she got off the bed and headed to the small dresser. She opened a drawer and shifted through what sounded like several books. Finally she found what she was searching for, her fingers wandering over the worn cover and spine. Anabelle closed her eyes against the sense of loneliness this book always brought. She shook her head before returning to sit beside Ichobad. She met his eyes and handed him the book.

"You mean this book?" she asked. "I trust they are all quite the same...excluding the bullet hole of course. I have yet to be shot at."

Anabelle flipped through the pages as Ichobad held the book open. She tried not to shudder at how they were close together with their heads resting almost against the other's, pouring over the contents of the small book.

"They are symbols of protection. I drew them the night the magistrate came to dinner...when I thought I heard hooves."

Ichabod nodded, his head bumping against hers slightly. He flipped the page shut and scrutinized the inside the front covers. Two names were scrawled in two different neat hands; one, Ichabod knew was Anabelle's. The other he didn't recognize, though he could only assume it was her mother's. He sighed.

"I believe you, of course..." He shifted so that he could lift her chin up and look into his eyes. "Odd coincidence, that both your mother and Katrina's mother bought the same book. Unless, of course, it was they who were sisters?"

Anabelle did not want to discuss her mother, not with Ichobad holding her chin and her gaze at the same time. She searched his eyes, battling against herself to answer him and ignore the tumbling of emotions that were making a mess of her mind.

"They were," Anabelle said slowly. "I was sure you would figure it out sooner or later, Ichobad," she gave a faint half smile. "Although I wasn't sure if it was something you wished to know for certain, therefore I didn't mention it. Just because you love Katrina doesn't mean you wish to have to safeguard the daughter of a witch. My mother wasn't a bad person," Anabelle hastened to add. "In fact, she was more concerned with protecting those she loved. You may have noticed the inside of your ring bears the same markings as the doorframe..."

Anabelle stopped her ramblings. Suddenly, she didn't know what to say. She was lost in his eyes, and no matter how she tried, she couldn't make herself look away.

"You may be the daughter of a witch, Anabelle, but in a way, so was Katrina." He cupped her cheek in his hand, his eyes glued to hers. "Unlike most, I've grown to believe there is nothing the matter with one who does magic for those they care about. Katrina...and her mother I suppose, for instance. Witch seems such a horrid title and you are not a bad person. Quite the contrary, you are an intriguing, kind, and beautiful woman..." Before he could rethink it, he pressed his lips gently to hers in a swift, sweet kiss. "And I cannot kid myself any longer that the only reason I am protecting you still is because of Katrina."

With a trembling hand, Anabelle touched her lips, her mind reeling at Ichobad's words, at his kiss. She couldn't have put a conscious thought together if she tried, and yet, she struggled vainly to find something to say, some way to respond...to let him know she felt the same way. Her mind was not working properly, her lips not able to form words.  
Throwing all caution to the wind, she leaned in and pressed a kiss to his lips, her heart racing. His lips were so soft, his breath so sweet and warm. Slowly she pulled back, her cheeks flushed scarlet, her eyes sparkling.

"Ichobad," her voice faltered. "I--I don't know what to say...no one has ever said anything to me like that before..."

She concentrated on burning his words into her memory along with the sweet taste of his lips.

Ichabod shook his head, smiling slightly.

"You needn't say a word," he whispered, his hand resting on the back of her neck lightly. "I understand..." He sighed, his forehead rested to hers and his fingers playing with strands of her long dark hair. "My heart has broken for Katrina, but now, I feel it healing. Had you not been here for me Anabelle, I know I would be a goner, my heart in pieces. I am only sorry that it took this," he motioned to his tattered, bandaged knee, "to realize that dwelling on my losses will get me nowhere. I miss Katrina, terribly, but I cannot continue to dwell on what cannot be helped."

Anabelle's eyes fluttered closed, her forehead resting against his. She felt overwhelmed and incredibly calm all at once. She smiled slightly as Ichobad's fingers toyed with the strands of her hair. She slipped her arms around him, pulling him into a warm embrace, her head resting on his shoulder as her hands idly trailed up and down his back.  
Feeling the rise and fall of his shoulder began to lull her into a dazed trance. Whether from relief or simply exhaustion, two tears dropped from dark lashes, trailing down her face and hitting the soft fabric of his shirt.

Anabelle felt one of his arms wrap tenderly around her waist as her breathing slowed. She couldn't remember the last time she'd gotten a decent night's sleep, and here she was falling asleep in Ichobad's arms...Anabelle...not Anabelle-playing-Katrina...  
She smiled at the thought before giving over to the dreamworld that pulled her in.

Ichabod smiled as he felt Anabelle's body relax in his arms. He thought she might be more comfortable lying down, but he did not have the desire to set her down just get. He buried his face into her hair and took in the gentle scent. If was not until his knee began throbbing dully with pain that Ichabod realized he was not in the best position to be in while injured. Trying his very best not to wake her, he moved Anabelle to lay flat at his side. He straightened out his leg and propped it back up on its pillows. He sat there for a moment, one hand resting lightly on Anabelle's head, gazing down at her. Then he spotted the book she had been reading and reached to pick it up. He smiled. It was Shakespeare's _Twelfth Night_. Silently, he flipped it open and began to read, all the while toying with a bit of Anabelle's hair as she slept.

Even asleep, Anabelle could feel Ichobad's fingers tangle in her hair. She emitted a little noise, tilting her head to give him more of her dark locks to play with. In her dreams, this was something that occurred every night.

_In her dreams..._

_In her dreams it was pouring down torrents of rain as two drenched figures stood before a closed doorway. One was fishing inside a pocket in a frantic and unsuccessful search._

_"Ichobad," Anabelle yelled over the rain. "Can't you find the key?"_

_"If I could find the key, my dear, we wouldn't be getting soaked," Ichobad turned his head face her, rolling his eyes. His hair was dripping. The sight made Anabelle laugh. _

_"I suppose you find this amusing," Ichobad arched an eyebrow at her. _

_"Yes, I rather do," Anabelle pushed back her own dark and dripping locks from her forehead. _

_In two strides his arm was about her waist, pulling her into his chest. His eyes sparkled with mischief as he took in her startled expression. _

_"Very well," he murmured before setting his lips to her own in a passionate kiss. The pouring rain only intensifying the perfection of Ichobad's actions. _

Anabelle murmured in her sleep, turning onto her side, her body making contact with something...someone...someone she knew. An arm encircled her shoulder and she could hear the soft heartbeat beneath her. With an unconscious blush and a smile, she wrapped an arm about Ichobad's waist and dreamed no more.

Ichabod's grip on Anabelle's shoulders tightened gently as she rolled into him. Peeling his steady gaze from the book, he smiled down at her, his hand still entwined in her dark tresses. He wondered what she might be dreaming about. Quietly, as not to wake her, he bent down and placed a light kiss to her forehead.

Strange way to begin a relationship, he thought. Was that what they had now? A relationship? It seemed incredible that mere hours ago, he had been doing his very best to deny whatever feelings he had for her. Now, he was lying next to her as she slept. And he had kissed her. Completely sane and sober, he had kissed her, and had very much enjoyed it too.


	7. Mending

Chapter Seven  
------------------------------------------------------------ 

"Damn it, Crane! Get your lazy arse out here and do some work!"

Ichabod jolted awake. It was three days after the tumble that had led to his injured knee and he had, not ten minutes ago, dozed off while reading. The book, Twelfth Night, lay open on his shoulder and chest.

Also there was Anabelle, her head and arms rested upon his chest. One of Ichabod's hands was well tangled in her dark brown locks of hair again. There had been little movement from similar positions in the whole three days, save for Ichabod shifting round some, moving from sitting to lying, and Anabelle getting up to get food, water, and other necessities.

Now, Ichabod was rubbing the light sleep from his eyes as a loud shout sounding from outside by the door. He gulped. The magistrate had arrived; wanting Ichabod to do some work. They had sent word, through Masbeth, that Ichabod was injured, and would not be able to move until the knee healed. Apparently the magistrate believed three days suitable time to heal a deep gash that had taken a great deal of the skin from his knee. He frowned and gently shook Anabelle's shoulder.

"Ana... Wake up..." he whispered as another yell came from the ground floor outside.

With a groan, Anabelle lifted her head from Ichabod's chest, eyeing him with sleep-heavy questioning eyes. Then she heard the bellow from outside on the street.

"I do believe I hate your boss," she rubbed the sleep from her eye with the heel of her palm. "I knew I should have poisoned his dinner when I had the opportunity."

Behind her, she could hear Ichabod chuckle. The noise made her smile and pull herself from his warm embrace, standing up and smoothing out her wrinkled skirts.

Another obnoxious yell from outside accompanied by a bang on the door.

Anabelle bent down, pressing a kiss to Ichabod's lips, her hair cascading around them both. She allowed her lips to linger against his, smiling before turning her head slightly to repeat her action from another angle.

"Shall I send the magistrate up here?" she breathed against his lips.

"Do you think that if we left him he would go away? Or would he just send a brigade to break down the door?" Smiling, he brushed a hand over her face, planting a kiss to the tip of her nose. "Yes, best let him in, before herniates or...something. Let us hope he is in his best temper. I can't exactly dodge blows in my present condition, can I?" He frowned. Less worried of the physical blows, it was more the threats of losing his promotion, or his job. It was not as if he could do much about it now.

True, had had spent the last few days lying in bed and thinking of many things other than the Horseman or who might be controlling him, but the magistrate couldn't know that, of course. In fact, this was the first time he had been by since Ichabod had been injured.

With a little shrug, Ichabod pulled Anabelle in for one last, stronger kiss, then let her go to show the magistrate it.

Anabelle paused at the door of the bedroom, leaning back in, biting down on her lip.

"I should smudge out these markings, shouldn't I?" she eyed the doorframe. "Seeing as how I am already not in his good graces, I doubt he'd be lenient on you if he knew I was...well, whatever I am..." her voice trailed off, her eyes turning to look at Ichabod lying on the bed. She had never paused to think about it. Was she a witch like her mother was reputed to be? Magic had always been a part of her life, not something her mother believed in hiding. She was relieved beyond belief that Ichabod seemed to view magic in a similar fashion. However, Anabelle could almost be certain the magistrate would not look up on this bit of news favorably. The last thing she wished to give the fat grotesque cow was another reason to warn Ichabod she was a liability.

"That may be a wise decision, yes," Ichabod said. He was smiling still, but inside, he was steeling himself for the tirade to come. He had no clue what the magistrate would do, or say, and he was scared. That, however, was something he would not admit to Anabelle. He had to remain confident. "Wipe them away and g-"

There was an almighty crash from downstairs as the magistrate once more hammered on the door, and the already broken and worn latch gave way, sending the door hard into the wall. Upstairs, Ichabod winced as there followed a completely silence from downstairs, then a noise snort of distaste.

"Maybe I won't solve this Horseman business until he gets to that pig... Then I will be magistrate, I hope." He made a face.

Anabelle barely had time to scramble and wipe the doorframe clean with her sleeve before the magistrate was at the bottom of the stairs.

Thankfully the magistrate did not see her as he stalked up the stairs and into the master bedroom. She felt her face go white and began to mutter something under her breath...something she'd heard her mother mutter during thunderstorms. Anabelle looked down at the damaged door. They were going to have to get another one. Tonight.

Anabelle peered over the banister to see young Masbeth eyeing the door as well.

"Rupert!" she called out in a whisper, not remembering if she'd ever used his first name before. Judging by the look on his face as he turned to see her, not many people did.

"I think you'll need a new door," young Masbeth said with a shrug. "I did my best to calm him down. His wife told him he had to get rid of his brandy habit, and he's been having a rough time. Naturally, he decided to take it out on Mr. Crane. Poor man never gets a break."

"No, he never does seem to get one, does he?" Anabelle replied, glancing apprehensively over her shoulder at the opened doorway. "I'm afraid to leave him alone," she admitted.

"I will see to the door if you would be willing to keep the magistrate away from him," young Masbeth offered.

"I believe I can manage that," Anabelle's mind started turning over various scenarios in her mind. One consolation was that she knew Ichabod had yet to remove that ring.

"CRANE!" The magistrate's volume was utterly extraordinary. Ichabod went pale and shrunk back into the covers, wishing Anabelle was at least beside him.

"Sir, my knee is no-"

"I don't care about your knee, man!! You are making up excuses to get out of work!" The great lump plunged forward, face purple and angry. Ichabod tried his best to scoot further away.

"The doctor said-"

"DAMN the doctor! You are a constable!! Get UP!!!"

"I-"

"Now!"

"Bu-"

"NOW!"

Ichabod swallowed a whimper and glanced at the door to Anabelle, who still had her back turned. He pushed the covers from him and slowly swung his legs out of bed. Though he bent one to stand up, he held the other forward at a strange angle, wincing in discomfort and leaning on the bed stand for support.

Something told Anabelle that she needed to turn around. She followed her instinct and saw Ichabod standing, leaning against the bedpost with the magistrate yelling at him to stop leaning and stand on his feet.

_What is he doing? Ichabod cannot stand with his knee as badly off as it is._

Before she had a chance to think of the consequences, Anabelle stormed into the bedroom, tapped the magistrate on the shoulder and slapped him as hard as she could across his purple, fat face. The crack echoed throughout the house, resonating in the silence.

The magistrate turned to her in surprise. In fact, even Ichabod was shocked. His dark eyes were wide, his lips parted. His leg buckled and he sank back onto the bed.

Anabelle's eyes burned with fury she didn't even know she possessed. Her jaw was clenched tight, her breathing constant, but deep. If looks could kill, the magistrate would be nothing but a pile of ashes.  
Shaking off his stunned expression, the magistrate glared back at Anabelle for a moment. Then he stepped past her, her hand still imprinted on his cheek. As he reached the doorway, he turned over his shoulder to address Ichobad with alarming calmness.

"She's not worth it, Crane," his tone was almost menacing. "If you want that promotion, you'd better realize where your priorities are."

His footsteps resounded down the stairs and through the main corridor as he left the house.

Ichabod's jaw worked furiously for a long time, but no sounds could be heard from him. He simply stared, dumbstruck, at Anabelle. Scooting himself back into the pillows of the bed, he look a long shaky breath, his knee throbbing. At last, he found his voice.

"Y-you shouldn't have done that, Anabelle..." he whispered, eyes huge. "I'm going to lose my promotion... My job..." He looked around frantically. "We need to solve this. I need to get to work. I cannot keep lying around doing nothing. He'll only come back." He was ranting, but he hardly noticed. His stress level had just sky rocketed once more, and he was shaking. Still babbling on, he made to stand up slowly, clutching with all his might to the bed stand.

Realization slammed full force into Anabelle as she watched Ichobad try to stand. Suddenly all her anger at the magistrate faded...only to return tenfold against herself. Surely she had just cost Ichabod everything he ever wanted. Her body started to shake uncontrollably, but she made herself look at Ichabod, her eyes wide and full of apology.

"No, no. You sit," she steeled her voice to remain calm, fighting back everything that threatened to break her down. "I will bring your things."

She paused, wondering just how much more Ichabod could take before he just broke and she couldn't put him back together. This was all her fault.

"Please, sit," she whispered, her eyes downcast now, staring at the worn floorboards. Judging by the creak of the mattress, Ichabod did as she asked. Not looking up, Anabelle left the room, returning shortly with the satchel he kept his work in. She didn't meet his eyes, but held it out to him. He took it from her and Anabelle walked back out the room again, only to turn her back against the doorframe, sliding down to sit on the floor, her knees tucked up by her chin.

"Now you've really gone and done it, Anabelle," she scolded herself. Her nose started to sting and scalding tears fell from her eyes. She tangled her hands in her hair, resting her head on her knees and let herself have it.

Ichabod could hear her sobbing. He frowned. This was not good, and as much as he was concerned about the outlook of his own career, the last thing he wanted was for her to cry.

"Anabelle," he called softly. "Ana, come here." She did not come, and Ichabod frowned. "Ana, please come here? I wish to speak to you." When she still made no appearance back in the room, and set his satchel aside and very slowly, inch by inch, lowered himself to the floor. He scooted across the wooden floor, using his uninjured leg and both hands. After what seemed like ages, he had reached her side. Without hesitating, he reached over, took hold of her waist, and pulled her into his lap. Once she was there, he wrapped his arms around her and buried his face in her neck and hugged her tightly.

"Don't cry, please. It's not your fault. Shh..."

Having him hold her only made Anabelle cry harder. He was supposed to be in bed, resting, healing, not over-exerting himself to comfort the source of his troubles. Still, she had to admit, she was grateful he found it worth the effort to follow her. Slowly her sobbing lessened, although a few tears still found their way down her stained cheeks.

Finally, she looked up, although still not at Ichabod. Her cheeks bore tell-tale signs of her crying, as did her reddened nose.

"I am so sorry," she said quietly, more tears threatening to well up. "I don't know what came over me...He was...and you standing...I've never been so furious at someone...I am so sorry...And now there's even more pressure on you to find something, simply to make up for my mistake..."

She hung her head. Her next words were barely audible.  
"I will never forgive myself if I just made you lose everything you've ever wanted..."

Ichabod sighed. She was being very hard on herself. With the greatest amount of gentleness he possessed, he took her chin and forced her to look up at him, into his eyes.

"Anabelle, hush," he whispered, cradling her close to him. "Please do not beat yourself up over something so...trivial. It is only a job, a promotion, nothing more. It is not near as important to me as a human life...,multiple human lives... _your_ life." He pushed a kiss onto her lips, trying to help. "I am not angry with you. I just need to be sure that you recognize what you did, and what the consequences may be. You know that, and it is over. There is nothing more that can be done." He wiped the tears gently from her face. "Fretting and crying will do no good."  
Though he spoke calmly and collectedly, inside, he was jittery with nerves. They needed to solve this, and soon.

_...and it is over._

Anabelle heard Ichabod say the words, and she faintly nodded. However, it would not be over for her so quickly. Silently she vowed to not rest until she was confident Ichabod wouldn't lose his job over her hot-headed behavior. She slipped her arms around him, pulling him even closer, remaining that way for a moment or two, placing a kiss to his jawline before she pulled away, rising to her feet. She held out both hands to Ichobad, helping him to stand.

"If you still trust me, put your arm about my shoulder and lean into me. I'll take you back to bed," she said as she wrapped an arm securely around his waist. "I promise not to do anything...stupid," she added with a weak smile.

Ichabod's lips curled into a light smile as he was pulled to his feet.  
"I trust you," he said in her ear. He leaned as lightly as possible on her, but it was still a large amount of weight on her shoulders. He grimaced slightly.

"It is really quite inconvenient, isn't it?" he asked when she had helped him lie back down. "What will you do while I do some work? Go downstairs, or..." He looked up hopefully from taking files from his satchel. "Or maybe, will you stay here with me?"

Anabelle smiled, a blush rising to her cheeks. Even after all the mess she'd made, he still wanted her to stay with him. Without a second thought, she joined him on the bed, her hand resting on his cheek as she pressed her lips to his with more intensity than she planned on. She pulled back to search his dark eyes. She couldn't help but smile again, only this time it was a brilliant smile that lit up her eyes.

"I will stay here with you, Ichabod."

"Good," Ichabod whispered, pulling her in tightly for a hug. His cheek pressed against hers for a second before he released her. Then he pulled his satchel onto his lap again and began shuffling through papers. He sighed, slightly frustrated still. "Though it is not as if I can really do much with this." He rested his forehead on his hands, thinking hard. "I wish I could walk... I could get to the notary, the library, the city hall... There is so much information I _don't_ have, but that I must have!"

Anabelle turned his dilemma over in her mind. She didn't like the idea of leaving him alone while she went to the library, and he certainly wouldn't like the idea of her going alone. Young Masbeth was seeing to the new door and wouldn't be back until later. Her eyes scanned the room, alighting on a warn journal...Ichabod's journal.

"Ichabod," she turned to him, her eyes wide as an idea hit her. "The doctor said you had to keep your leg immobile, right?"

He narrowed his eyes at her, not quite following the way she was drifting.

"Remember that drawing of those glasses I saw? The ones you made? How long did that take? I'm sure if you instruct me as to what to do, we can rig something so you can get to the library, something to keep your knee immobile."

Ichabod thought on this idea. Slowly, he started to nod, the expression on his face lighting up as an idea started to form.

"Well, the glasses took quite a while to make, actually... But we could make something fairly quickly." He nodded to the journal. "Come, hand that to me. I'll see what I can come up with."

When she had done so, Ichabod flipped open the book to a blank page and stared at it for a moment. Then he reached over and wrapped his arm around Anabelle, smiling gently at her as he pulled her half onto his lap. Setting his head on her shoulder, he reached around her and began to sketch a crude, splint-like contraption to put on his leg.

Anabelle could feel his heartbeat against her back as Ichabod began to draw. She couldn't get enough of the feeling she had when she was in his arms, close to him like this. Biting down on her lip, she fought both the blush that would stubbornly rise to her cheeks and the overwhelming urge to turn and kiss his lips again.

Now was not the time for that.

Instead, she focused on his hands, his long fingers curving around the pencil he was drawing with. Anabelle listened to the etching noise of the lead on the smooth paper and the careless flick as he brushed off the excess. She had never watched anyone draw, and to behold Ichabod was fascinating.

He was more talented than she originally believed him to be. Not only was his model beautiful to look at as he drew, it would be completely functional, most likely without flaw. She turned her head slightly to study his face, the amazement in her eyes unmasked.

_Was there anything Ichabod Crane could not do?_

Ichabod managed to sketch for several more minutes as she watched his face, but finally, the pull of her gaze attracted him to tear his eyes from the paper and look down at her. He raised an eyebrow quickly, looking quite surprised at the look on her face.

"Wh-what?" he asked, somewhat defensively.

"You're amazing, do you know that?" Anabelle asked. "I was just thinking about all the things which you are capable of doing...and doing so well. You're sketching your own device, which you will turn around and build and have it running to perfection shortly thereafter."

Her gaze softened, watching his eyelashes cover his deep brown eyes before revealing them once more.

"Is there anything you cannot do, Ichabod?"

Ichabod looked down, suddenly sad.

"Many things... For one, I cannot stand up to my boss. I have to rely on you to do that for me, apparently." He looked up, smiling slightly as he tried to alter the subject. "But, for the record, _you_ are constructing the device, not I. Bear that in mind." Leaning in he kissed her again gently.

"You never saw what I drew that day you fainted and I was sitting beside your bed sketching, did you?"

"As for standing up to your boss, Ichabod, you cannot be so hard on yourself. The fact of the matter is, currently, you cannot stand at all," Anabelle pointed out in a teasing manner. "But if you could, I have no doubt you'd have handled that scenario with far more grace than I did."  
She paused to fiddle with her ring.

"But, no, I only saw the picture you drew of Katrina and the glasses, which you still have to wear for me, by the way," she smiled a small smile as she leaned in to brush her mouth against the corner of his lips.

Shuddering the tiniest bit at her touch, Ichabod nodded.

"Those drawing we quite old, which would explain why the page fell out. Here." He closed the book, only to reopen it a second later. He flipped through what seemed a thousand pages, scanning each one quickly, before he stopped at one page and help it open for her to see. There, drawn landscape onto the page, was an exquisite likeness of the sleeping Anabelle at day. Every feature, from the hands, to her cherry lips, was absolutely perfect. Look at it, Ichabod bit his lip. He wonders how she would react to him having drawn her. Would she be angry, touched, or... any of a number of other things?

For a moment, Anabelle could only stare at the page Ichabod held open for her. The likeness was so real she thought if she brushed her fingers over the drawing, she could actually wake the miniature sleeping form. Ichabod had managed to capture every little detail.

Anabelle glanced up to meet Ichabod's eyes, seeing them betraying his apprehension. She let out a small laugh as she smiled and shook her head, her dark hair brushing over her shoulder.

She ran her fingers through his hair, down his cheek, stopping at his lips. Feeling a shudder run through her, she ran her thumb slowly over his lower lip, watching his eyes.

"You have no cause to worry, Ichabod," she smiled. "I think it's the best likeness I've ever seen. And I'm honored you'd draw me."

With that, she pressed her lips to his, beginning to slowly work them with her own until she felt Ichabod's apprehension melt away. Just as she was about to pull away, her lips barely touching his, his arms tightened around her and pulled her back into his kiss.

He gently continued pressing his lips to hers, arms winding quickly around her waist. The sketchbook and satchel lay open and forgotten beside them. Ichabod's mouth opened slightly, covering her lips with his own. His warm breath hit her face, wafting back the tiniest strands of hair. After a few moments, she still had not accepted him. He pulled away and lowered his gaze to her lips.

"Sorry," he whispered, sure he had crossed some sort of line.

Anabelle had panicked. She knew it was a ridiculous thing to do, but the gentleness of his lips pressing softly to hers, his warm breath sending shivers down her spine, his arms tight around her waist, all these things made her rather unsure of herself. It wasn't that she didn't trust _him_. She trusted Ichabod with her life. It was herself she didn't trust. Being with Ichabod like this sent a rush of emotions through her that was so powerful it overwhelmed her senses, leaving her unable to think of anything but wanting more.

All these thoughts were flooding her mind, but when Ichabod pulled away and apologized, sounding self-conscious about his actions, Anabelle's mind immediately cleared. She gently tilted his lips back towards hers, her breath ghosting over his mouth. She felt rather foolish for what she was about to say, but knew Ichabod would want the truth.  
"I was just a little nervous," she admitted with a blush. "I'm all right now."

She moved closer, her mouth resting lightly against his. "Please."  
Anabelle felt Ichabod hesitate as he pressed a kiss to her lips. After a moment, she could feel his part against hers. Slowly she brushed her fingers through his hair, ignoring the pounding of her heart as she parted her lips.

Ichabod could not resist shivering slightly. The idea of being so close to Anabelle.…kissing her like so, and sober, it was almost too much for him right now. He needed to get to work, but thoughts of papers and trips to the city hall were quickly slipping to the back of his mind. All he wanted to do was sink into her lips, memorize every detail. He wanted to pull her against him and not let go for days, weeks even.

Once more, his lips covered hers. Eagerly and yet oh so gently, their mouths merged. It began slowly, but passion in the kiss slowly grew.

Anabelle heard herself murmur against his lips, her heart racing. His touch was so soft, so tender. She couldn't help but wonder if it would always feel this way. She smiled into his kiss before pulling herself deeper into his arms, pressing her body to his. Her hands ran gently through his hair, across his cheekbones, down his neck, coming to rest finally on his chest. She shuddered as he broke his mouth from hers, only to return it to the corner of her lips, slowly working his way to the other side before he fully reclaimed her lips, urging her nearer.

Ichabod made a soft noise through their lips, holding her closer than ever. After another minute, his lips parted from hers and roamed down her cheek, to the corner of her jaw. They rested there for a second before returning full force to her mouth, his kiss as gentle and sensual as ever it had been.

Anabelle felt her entire body melt into his arms, his lips driving her mad. Warm breath escaped through reddened, parted lips as she let out a shuddering sigh, pressing against his lips, one of her hands clasped lightly around the back of his neck, toying idly with his silken black hair.

Ichabod's hand rested on her upper arm. His thumb ran over her shoulder, just where the fabric of the dress ended and her milky skin showed. He slowly stroked her skin there, then pulled her fully onto his lap. Their lips seemed simply glued together.

Then a loud thud sounded, causing them to pull apart, lips parted and reddened, eyes hazy, cheeks flushed. They stared at each other before Anabelle looked to the floor. The satchel and journal had fallen to the floor, scattering papers everywhere. With a small sigh of reluctance, she pulled herself from Ichabod's lap, letting her fingers slowly untangle themselves from his hair. She gathered the neglected items and returned them to Ichabod before taking a seat at the foot of the bed. She was still facing him, their legs almost touching.

She reached forward, taking Twelfth Night from the pile of books and paperwork and opened it up to where she left off last time.

"Perhaps I shouldn't remain so close to you," she smiled. "I'll keep you from your work."

Ichabod smiled.

"A, but I can't do much work until we get this," he lifted up the half finished drawing of the splint, "built." He settle back into the pillows, pencil in hand, to finish the drawing. "I am almost finished, then I will send Masbeth to get the materials, and you can build it while I instruct you." He bent his head forward, black hair falling into his eyes, and the tip of his tongue showing between his lips as he concentrated.

Anabelle peeked over the pages of her book, smiling as Ichabod worked diligently on his sketching. His hair in his eyes made him look like a schoolboy, sketching instead of doing something educational like arithmetic. She couldn't hide her smile, but turned her attention back to her book, occasionally glancing his way while he was deep in thought.


	8. To Stand

At last, Ichabod looked up triumphantly from his sketch.  
"I have finished!" he announced, looking quite pleased. He handed the drawing to Anabelle for inspection. His smile faltered as he thought about the supplies he would need.  
"Masbeth?" he called tentatively. "Young Masbeth?!" When there was no reply, Ichabod looked at Anabelle concernedly. "Where did he get off to?"

Anabelle laughed. "To get a new door, Ichabod. Ours is off its hinges."  
She rose from the bed to peer out the window. She could see Young Masbeth riding in the front of a delivery carriage with a man in a brown cap.   
"Rupert is coming down the street now with a new one," she returned to the bed, glancing down at the sketch. She took a deep breath. Ichabod surely had a lot of faith in her if he thought she could construct something like that...

"Oh, good," Ichabod said. "I am going to have him go and get the supplies..." He paused, wondering how to phrase his next thought. "I would really rather not have you outside without me, alright?" He reached over and touched her hand gently. "Sorry. It isn't that I don't trust you, of course, but I don't trust...anyone else around you."

Anabelle smiled at Ichabod's words. She leaned in and pressed a light kiss to his lips. "I understand. I have never had so devoted a protector. Thank you."  
She looked up into his eyes, her own sparkling.

Ichabod's grin had a distinct glow now. He reached out and took both of her hands, pulling her back onto his lap.  
"You're welcome," he said into her ear, his lips brushing her flesh. "Now that I am temporarily done with work until we get this built... do you think that you could still be considered a distraction? Or are you now my main focus?"

Anabelle's breath hitched in her chest. Without any thought, she slightly inclined her head to allow easier access to her ear, jawline and neck.  
"I believe that all depends on what you think," she managed as her eyelids fluttered closed.

"I do not know what I think," Ichabod said, running his lips in a trail from her ear to her jaw. "However, I certainly wish that it could be so that you are always in the center of my attention. If only that good-for-nothing boss of mine would leave me be."

"Soon this will all be over, Ichabod," Anabelle relaxed in his arms. "And somehow I doubt your boss will be back as long as I'm here...unless he finds some reason or another to arrest me."  
Ichabod's fingers began to brush against the skin of her shoulder.  
"If _I could_ be the center of your attention," she began, her eyes still closed against the sensation of his fingertips brushing her skin. "Is this what it would be like?"  
She shivered, his lips stopped at her neck, just resting against her pulse. Her hands trailed up and down his back.

"If you like," Ichabod murmured. "If you could be at the center of my attention, you could do whatever you wanted. It would be what you wish." His lips worked slowly at her pulse until a light purple-colored mark arose there. He pulled back, peered at the peculiar marking, and frowned. "It is probably a good thing, that everyone thinks us married, is it not?"

Anabelle fought to control her breathing as Ichabod's lips gently worked her pulse. The sensation was dizzying and intoxicating. She felt him pull away and forced herself to focus on the words he spoke.

"I think," she opened her eyes to meet his, surprised to see what passion was burning in the shy constable's eyes. "I think it is a very good thing."

Ichabod grinned before setting his mouth upon her cherry lips once more. It was another minute before he pulled away. He looked up at her, brow furrowed slightly.  
"Are you alright, Ana?" he asked. "You are breathing strangely..." He had a sneaky suspicion of why that was. "You can relax. If you want me to stop, tell me. I will respect you, and your space..."

Anabelle opened her eyes to meet his. Ichabod really was incredibly sweet. She smiled before setting her lips to his.  
"Don't stop," she murmured the second before she pressed her lips to his.

"Yes ma'am," Ichabod said, laughing lightly before returning his tender kiss to her neck. Another slight mark appeared on her neck, then another, as he roamed across the skin, softly drawing it in. There was a knock on the door, which Ichabod had closed when Anabelle had been leading him back to the bed. Reluctantly, Ichabod detached his lips from to spot just between her neck and chin, and looked around at the door. He glanced briefly to Anabelle, shrugging helplessly. Then he called out to whoever was standing at the door, "Come in!"

Anabelle smiled and shook her head, her long hair falling over her shoulder, covering the marks Ichabod had left. She pulled herself from Ichabod's lap and reached for her book, burying her nose in it. Ichabod reached over and, with a laugh, turned it right side up.

Just as he had set it back into her hands, the door opened and Masbeth poked his head into the room.  
"Sir? The new door is here. They are putting it up for you now, and then said they will calculate the cost," the young man explained. "And...um, is there anything else you need?"  
"Yes!" Ichabod said quickly, waving the boy over. He scribbled down a quick list and handed it to Masbeth, who looked down and scanned over it blankly. "I need for you to go get these things if you would. It's for making this." He handed him the sketch for a second, then snatched it away again carefully. "So I can get to the city hall and do something...useful."  
"Oh! Yes, sir. I'm right on it." Masbeth nodded, and then turned and hurried from the room, shopping list in hand.

Anabelle watched Young Masbeth scurry out the door with Ichabod's shopping list.  
"Please remind me to make him stay for dinner," Anabelle looked up from her book. "He's been running all over the city for me and I believe I owe Rupert a banquet."  
She glanced sideways at Ichabod.  
"Are you quite relieved to be getting out of bed soon? I'm sure you're anxious to be up and about...although personally I can't say I've minded the delay; I just wish it hadn't had to be so painful for you."

"Ah, but it hasn't been so bad," Ichabod said. "The pain lessens when you have a lovely woman sitting with you the majority of the time." He reached over and took her hand, rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand. "In fact, I'd much prefer waiting to get up until I'm fully healed, but that isn't exactly an option right now, is it?"

Anabelle's cheeks flushed. She had never particularly thought of herself as "lovely." It wasn't that she found herself plain, in fact, she thought she was rather pretty, but "lovely" wasn't something she'd used to describe herself. And yet, Ichabod had called her "lovely." She wet her lips, raking the lower through her teeth as she watched his thumb stroke over the back of her hand. Anabelle turned hers over, catching his and lacing their fingers together. When he met her eyes, she simply smiled, knowing her cheeks were still a tell-tale pink.

Ichabod raised an eyebrow at her, his thumb now stroking hers instead.  
"Say something..." he whispered, watching her lips carefully. "Say...anything at all. Possibly a thing that you have never before said."

Anabelle paused. Something she had never said before. Her pulse quickened as one particular thing came to mind...  
Nervously, she wet her lips again, repeating the raking of her lower lip through her teeth, watching Ichabod's thumb caress hers before looking into his eyes.  
"Ichabod," her voice was so low it was almost a whisper. "I..." she took a deep breath. Why was she so nervous? "I...have never felt this way about anyone before."   
Anabelle looked down at their intertwined hands, studying the matching wedding bands that encircled their fingers. Could she possibly...?  
"And, I...I am not sure I will ever feel this way about anyone else," she whispered almost inaudibly. "About anyone but you..."

Ichabod smiled brilliantly as he pulled her to him and hugged her, entwining his fingers into her dark hair.  
"I," he began, but his smiled slipped from his face like a drop of rain down a window pane. He could not think of a reply to that. "I haven't either" or "I never have felt this way as well"... He could say it, but it was a downright lie. She would know it. He had felt this way before, about Katrina. He could not deny it was different, but yet so similar. He closed his eyes.  
Would any of this have happened if Katrina were still alive? Where would Anabelle be now if she were? Shaking his head, Ichabod sighed, unable to think of a sufficient reply.  
"I'm glad you feel that way," he whispered, knowing full well he sounded like an idiot.

Anabelle wrapped her arms around Ichabod, pulling his body flat against hers. Her quickened breathing caused her chest to rise and fall against his. After a moment, she pulled away to meet his eyes. Her gaze softened as she saw him glance away. He looked uncomfortable and a little embarrassed, and if she were to guess why, she would say it was because he was unable to reply in words similar to her own.  
With all the tenderness she could manage, she brought her hand to cup his chin, bringing his eyes to hers.  
"It's all right," her tone was gentle and her smile was soft. "It was just something I thought I should tell you."  
All of a sudden, she felt a little unsure of herself. Her gaze faltered for a second, but when it returned to his, she studied the depths of his dark eyes. Once again, they were pulling her in, making her forget about anything else in all of creation, making her forget any uncertainty she had.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

"No, no, Ana! The other way," Ichabod was saying, frustration and laughter lacing his voice. It was nearly three hours later and the construction of the splint was nearly complete, but Anabelle was having some difficulty tightening the final bindings. "Here, bring it here. I will help you," he said gently, holding out his hands to her and smiling. Upon seeing her slight annoyance at not being able to get it right, Ichabod brushed back her hair and chuckled. "Don't worry... I am not entirely sure I can get it either."

Anabelle handed him the contraption, her hands dirty, a smudge across her nose. She glared at the piece that had given her so much trouble. It had taken a good deal of her time, and most of her patience, to even get the bindings this far. Although she did not mind Ichabod's help, especially since he knew what he was doing, she rather liked the idea of completing the project herself. Why, she had no idea, but the thought appealed to her.  
Anabelle watched as Ichabod's fingers worked with precision over this invention of his. She marveled at how he could understand something like this...how to fashion it, put it together, make it work.  
Hearing him call her name several times brought her from her musings. Actually, he had called her "Ana." She couldn't help but smile.  
"I like when you call me that."

Ichabod looked up at her, his hands freezing where they were. He furrowed his eyebrows and gave her a strange look.  
"C-call you what?" he asked. "Ana?" He smiled and shrugged. "I hardly noticed I was doing it. I'm glad you don't mind. Anyways, come here. You do this last one yourself." He reached over and took her hands in his setting them in a specific way on the contraption and showing her how to correctly attach the binding. Then, slowly, he pulled his own hands away and watched her expectantly.

For a moment she just looked at him. Then she drew a deep breath and began to work the bindings. It took her more time than it did for him, but she got it fastened. She let her hands linger, glancing back at Ichabod.  
"Did I do it right?"

"Perfect," Ichabod said, smiling. He slowly sat up further and scooted towards the edge of the bed, holding on tightly to Anabelle's hand. He looked slightly nervous about trying out the splint, but did his best to appear optimistic. "Alright," he started, pulling the splint from her hands and setting it down on the floor carefully beside his injured leg. "Let us try this out..." It was a short splint, just long enough to cover his knee and prevent it from bending. Most would probably think that it was very overdone for what it was for, but not Ichabod. He looked proudly at his newest invention before turning to Anabelle and blushing.  
"I...will need you to leave the room," he said, embarrassed. "It must go beneath my trouser leg and...well..."

Anabelle averted her eyes, slightly embarrassed at the thought of remaining if Ichabod was going to be in such a state of undress. She closed her eyes, brushing the stubborn locks that hung in his eyes, and pressed a kiss to his forehead.  
"I will be downstairs, then," she replied. "Should I send Rupert up, in case you need assistance? Some of those bindings look difficult to attach."

"Er, no," Ichabod replied, shaking his head and looking, now, even more embarrassed. "I will manage, I think. It should not be too difficult." In truth, he never before had had so much as his shirt off in front of anyone before, only his vest and jacket, with the exception of what had happened upon his last visit to Sleepy Hollow. He nodded and smiled as Anabelle left the room, then breathed a sigh of relief and started to slip of he suspenders and undo to buckle of his trousers.

Instead of going to the kitchen to start dinner preparations as she originally planned, Anabelle wandered off in the direction of the library. Quickly scanning the shelves, she discovered a book with an interesting title and plucked it carefully from the shelf. She retraced her steps to sit at the foot of the stairs and await Ichabod's completion of fastening the contraption to his leg.  
The book was a terrible distraction. In fact, it did not hold her attention past the first seven words. Oh, no, her mind _would_ drift to Ichabod. Anabelle had never expected to come to know him so well or care for him as more than her cousin's husband, yet she could not say she was regretting either. She hoped that in whatever afterlife Katrina was in, she would not mind, or at least not begrudge any happiness Anabelle brought to Ichabod. However, somehow Anabelle truly doubted this...once she had lost Katrina's ice skate on accident and Katrina had never let her forget it. Now, Anabelle had somehow managed to turn the thoughts of the shy constable who was head-over-heels for Katrina...Anabelle shuddered at what Katrina's reaction would be...the ice skate incident was bad enough.  
Unconsciously she began to trace the outline of another symbol on the stair with her finger. Perhaps letting herself get so close to Ichabod was not a wise move. However, she knew he would never let her go...not with the Horseman on the loose or the magistrate against her. Deep down she hoped, maybe...just maybe...there could be another reason, one she barely dared to imagine at the time.  
The symbol stood barely visible in the dust from the calamity over the door. A symbol of repentance...asking forgiveness...Anabelle leaned forward, allowing one tear to splash against the wood.  
"Forgive me, Katrina," she whispered as softly as she could. "Forgive me because I cannot give him up."


	9. Research Methods

A little while later, Ichabod emerged from the room, fully dressed and limping horridly, but walking at least. He looked quite pleased as he looked down the stairwell at Anabelle.  
"Finished," he said, smiling. The smiled fell however as he looked down at the stairs and then over the banister at the floor below. He cleared his throat. "My balance is rather off, though, Ana," he explained. "I may require some assistance still, down the stairs."

Immediately she turned and ran up the stairs two at a time to offer what assistance she could. It took a while, and though he tried to hide it, it was more taxing on him that he predicted. About halfway down, they stopped to rest, Anabelle's arm lingering around his waist as he rested his across her shoulder.  
"Too bad you can't just slide down the banister," she teased him lightly. "I loved doing that when I was small. My father hated it, so naturally I did it at all the inopportune moments...particularly if there was distinguished company to dinner."  
It was a silly, pointless little story, but perhaps it would make him smile and take his mind somewhat off of the pain that his leg must have been causing him.

It succeeded too. Though he was puffing for air and wincing slightly, Ichabod's lips curled into a gentle smile. He squeezed his arm about her shoulders.  
"I am sure you looked positively adorable, sliding down, making a grand enterance in your dresses and petticoats," he said. "And your mother must have been glad of the free wood polishing." He chuckled and leaned carefully on the banister, testing it. There was a quiet creak from the wood. He shooked his head.  
"I would be terrified of trying for fear that it my break or that there might be... splinters." He winced, though Anabelle could not be sure if that was from his leg, or the thought of slivers in such a spot. 

Anabelle wrinkled her nose. Splinters were definitely not a pleasing idea. But, she ignored that aspect and tightened her grip on Ichobad's waist, her thumb gently stroking up and down on his side.  
"Sadly my mother never got to see those frequent escapades," she bit her bottom lip. "She had died before then and my father, although a good man, was more concerned with keeping the 'upstanding reputation of his name' than any family devotion."  
Anabelle snickered at her memories of gravely embarrassing her father.  
"What you do not know about me is that I can be rather antagonistic. Sometimes I even do it on purpose, usually if an action warrants such behavior. Most of the absurd things my father did after my mother passed away fell into this category. In fact, it used to be a favorite past time of mine."  
She shouldn't have said that. If Ichobad thought highly of her, he certainly wouldn't now. What kind of person admits that they actually enjoyed making someone else cringe with embarrassment, particularly a father? Anabelle winced, but knew the damage was done.

"Oh?" Ichabod looked at her seriously, trying to read her expression. Then, to her surprise, he shrugged and glanced away, thinking. It was hard to find anyone, especially in the city, without similiar faults. Tempers, sauciness, and greed ran rampant through the world. He hardly considered this news from Anabelle particularly dissappointing on that respect. Katrina, even, had been willing to burn evidance to protect her father. That was just one of the many examples throughout his life that Ichabod had seen of human faults. They were, afterall, humans. They were who they were, and they were not perfect. After a moment, he thought up a sufficient reply and looked deeply into her eyes again.  
"I suppose it does give you character," he said, pulling a little smile back on to his face. "You said if an action warrants such behavior... What precisely did your father used to do that warranted such contrary decorum from his daughter?"

"If you had met my father," Anabelle began slowly, working out exactly what she wished to say in her mind as she spoke. "You would not believe I am his daughter. I am a faint immitation, a weaker copy of my mother. She was a very beautiful woman, tall, graceful with eyes of the deepest brown and hair that matched cascading in waved down her back. She was as accomplished as she was beautiful. She could play the piano and sing and was well read. I believe she could even speak French. My mother loved us, my father, Nathaniel and I and did all she could to protect us out in the country. I was young and did not know all the dangers, but there were witch hunters about, along with threats from highwaymen, bandits, animals...I am not sure what else."  
Anabelle could not meet his eyes, instead she stared at the worn wood of the stairs, studying the texture of the grain and the little lines that coursed through the varnished wood beneath her feet.  
"When my mother died, her body had barely been laid to rest when my father removed his wedding ring and put it away in a trunk with her belongings. Immediately he began hosting dinner parties for the most prominent villagers around our little house. He never mentioned my mother, seeming to turn his eyes from me whenever I would approach. Father did not wish to remember his wife...the witch...and that was something he did not take issues with until he heard someone from our village mention that I 'favored the witch.' At first, I did not wish to believe it was true, but..."  
She paused to think of how she wished to phrase this next bit. She was divulging too much information, but she was too far on a roll to desist.  
"...but the more my father remained in this society, the less anyone spoke of my mother. He became the talk of the town, noted for his dinner parties, for making something of himself even from such humble beginnings. He forgot all about my mother. Once he was asked by someone who knew he had been married previously who was the mother of his strapping boy, and he couldn't even remember her name..."  
Her voice dropped to a whisper.  
"He couldn't recall mine most of the time. I had already began to follow in my mother's footsteps although I hadn't discovered her books yet. My personality is as much hers as my looks. She would never have stood for the behavior my father exhibited. For her sake, I would not stand for it either..."  
Anabelle paused again, shaking her head, not wanting to continue down that path. She took a deep breath and returned to her previous line of thought.  
"Father's mind became occupied completely with the opinions of his new upperclass society, spending hours away with his new friends and Nathaniel, even. The house that I have recently occupied, the one in the city, that was Nathaniel's. He moved there with Father shortly before my father died. I stayed in our little house in the country. When Nathaniel was died, I thought a short stay in the city would be exciting...I had no idea it would be _this_ exciting. I hadn't fathomed Horsemen and crazed drunken magistrates," she added with a bitter laugh.

Ichabod gazed steadily at Anabelle as she told him her tale. His mouth hung slightly agape for a long time afterwards. He was a bit in awe. Never would he have guessed she had had such a life. It was so oddly similiar to his own. He shivered as a little breeze swept up the stairwell. A moment later, he had reached out and wrapped his arms tightly about her, bringing her close against him.  
"Anabelle... I had no idea..." he whispered, resting his lips to her forehead. He wanted to pour his heart out to her. He wished to tell her everything, his past, his dreams. Yet, he could not. It was so hard. He had only breifly spoken about his mother and father to Katrina long ago, but never more than mentioned either to anyone else. He wanted so much, just to tell he, but... no, not yet.  
"Thank you, for telling me this, Ana," he said at last, pulling away to look down at her tenderly. "You know you never need feel obligated to tell be anything. You can have your secrets from me, and from everyone. I am, though, very glad you told me about your parents. I..." He trailed off. He could not do it, not now. "I am sorry about your mother..."

Anabelle closed her eyes, resting against his shoulder, taking in his scent. She did not lean fully into his chest, not wanting to topple him over. She smiled against his shoulder.  
"There is one thing wrong with your statement, Ichobad," she laughed lightly, her eyes still closed. "I cannot have secrets from you. Even if I wanted to, I would probably end up telling you anyway. There's something about you that makes me unable to keep anything hidden from you."

Ichabod could not help but laugh at this.  
"Well, I am glad I know that. I could ask you anything I wanted, and you say you will have to tell me?" He playfully blew her hair into her eyes and held her waist tighter. "Perhaps I will both have to use that to my advantage, and try to remedy it. Tell me... what is you favorite color?"

Anabelle lifted her head, her lips against his ear. She breath passed by his ear, her lips closing around his lobe, pulling gently. She pressed a light kiss to the lobe after it passed through her lips.  
"I always did favor red," she answered. "But, perhaps it is rather too bold a color."

Ichabod's breath caught in his throat. He pulled away slightly, looking down at her with a bit of a confused expression. He shivered at the sensation tingling through him now from her lips.  
"Ana...," he whispered, eyelids closing partially. "I wish I could tell you about my parents. But I...cannot." He bowed his head in shame, sighing. "To share my life with you..., my story, I mean, it would be an honor, but..."

Anabelle took his hands in hers, her thumbs coursing over his palms. Her eyes watched his, patiently.  
"I am curious, Ichobad," she admitted. "But I am not asking. You do not have to tell me anything you do not wish to."

"I want to!" Ichabod felt highly obligated to make sure she realized this. "I do want to, my dear... to tell you anything you want to know about me, but it is so hard. Even...thinking about it, dreaming about it." He closed his eyes tightly. "I...cannot."

She stood on her toes and pressed a tender kiss to each closed eyelid. Anabelle still held his hands in hers, her thumbs tracing over his palms. Her cheek slid across his, her mouth brushing his in a feather light kiss as she pulled back to look at him. His head was bowed, eyes clenched tight. Anabelle brought a shaking hand to his cheek, stroking her thumb over his skin.  
"Perhaps..." she did not want to end this topic, but knew he could not pursue it now. "Perhaps we should get downstairs. Are you well enough to walk some more?"

"Oh...yes," Ichabod said. "Yes, I am fine now. Let us go on." The continued down the stairs. Progress was slow and, for Ichabod, painful. One instance was particularly straining, when Ichabod lost his balance and was forced to clutch onto both Anabelle's waist, and the railing to keep straight. He let out a low, shaking breath, trying hard to calm himself.  
At last, they reached the bottom. Ichabod wrapped his arm about the pillar at the doorway, leaning heavily on it and grimacing.  
"I'm alright..." he whispered, to nobody in particular. "Just... Just need to rest."

Anabelle watched as he leaned against the pillar. He was trying to hide the pain he was in. Perhaps this was a foolhardy idea to have him up and about so soon. Placing an arm about his waist, she urged him so sit on the stairs, stretching his leg out in front of him.  
"Wait here and I'll bring you something," she brushed back the matted hair from his forehead. "And no, it's not going to be any more of my...concoctions," she reassured him.  
A moment later she returned with tea and a honeycomb.  
"See? Just as I promised," she offered the cup to Ichobad, the honeycomb leaving sticky residue on her fingertips. "Nothing you've never seen before, is it?" she teased him lightly.

Ichabod forced a smile onto his face.  
"I was not concerned," he said. "Even if it hadn't been tea, I trust you. I know you would not poison me, on purpose, or accident." He took the cup and, after taking a deep breath, swallowed a sip of the hot liquid. He sighed, resting his head back against the banister supports. "Thank you, for all you have done to help me, Anabelle. I am in your debt."

Anabelle sat beside him on the step.  
"I'd say you are welcome, but Ichobad, I haven't done anything. I should be thanking you. You've been keeping me safe, from the Horseman, from the magistrate...you believed me when no one else would...even after the incident with the...medicine...and," she cringed. "even after I slapped your boss, you still stood by me," she smiled at the unintentional irony. "So to speak."

Ichabod, too, smiled.  
"Ah, yes, but without you, my dear..." he paused, unable to think of anything specific to say. Then a joking grin grew over his normal smile. "I would be either at the top of the steps still, terrified to come down on my own, or fallen at the bottom, with a broken neck."

Anabelle couldn't help but laugh. Laughter felt so good right now. Unfortunately, hiccoughs also followed. She blushed at the little squeaking noises that she tried to fight, but emmitted regardless of how hard she tried to hold them in. Of course, this only made her want to laugh more.  
She burried her head in her knees, her lips smiling, her back hitching with each hiccough.

Ichabod watched her for a minute, eyebrows raised in slight surprise. Then his face cracked and he, too, started to laugh. He threw his head back and let out a ringing tone of merriment that echoed in Anabelle's ears. Not in the longest time had he laughed like that. Still shuckling he wrapped his arm about her waist and reached under her hair to take her chin. He pulled her gaze up to his, looking into her eyes and his grinning broadening more.  
"You should laugh more often. You are completely iresistable." He leaned in to kiss her cheek. "So beautiful..."

Anabelle's eyes fluttered closed as his lips touched her cheek, her heart skipping a beat as he called her beautiful...and irresistable. How could the simply stated words of this man fill her with such longing? His lips brushed over the skin of her cheek, traveling lower. She turned her head away slightly, fighting another hiccough.  
"I'd kiss you, dear, really I would," she managed before hiccoughing twice. "But I'm afraid I will hiccough hiccough." Anabelle met his eyes in an appology. "Like that," she hiccoughed once more.

Ichabod snickered loudly, unable to help it.  
"I don't mind it, actually. It is rather adorable," he said. "Come here." He pulled her carefully onto his lap, cautious of his knee. Once she was there, he wrapped his hand about her neck and pulled her lips to his lightly. They parted soon as the continued to hiccough, but a seond later, he pressed the kiss back to her lips, smiling against her lips.

Anabelle fought with every fibre of her being not to hiccough, but they were relentless. She pulled away from Ichobad's lips and hiccoughed as he turned his head to another angle before reclaiming her lips. Feeling rather bold, she began to gently suck on Ichobad's lower lip, one of her hands resting on his arm as the other trailed down his shoulders to rest on his chest. What surprised her was that she didn't hiccough. Perhaps she had unconsciously found the cure. She smiled against his lips.  
_Certainly not a bad way to get rid of hiccoughs_, she thought as she waited for Ichobad to accept her lips into a deeper kiss.

It only took Ichabod a moment to do so. He deepened the kiss slowly, gently. His long, pale fingers tangled in her dark hair as he held her closer. Their embrace grew in strength and the kiss grew in affection as the minutes wore on.

Whether his lips became more demanding first or hers, she could never discern. All she was conscious of was the way they felt against her own, working hers with passion and tenderness, parting hers gently and molding her to him like they were made for each other. His hands were tangled in her dark hair, running the silken strands through his fingers.  
The hand on his arm had moved around his neck while the hand on his chest absently toyed with the first button of his vest.  
There simply was no way Anabelle could ever get enough of this, enough of Ichobad, enough of his kiss, enough of the way he made her feel...

Taking in he smell in a deep breath, Ichabod paused againt her lips, his eyes half-closed. He was about to return to the kiss, as gentle as he had always been, when therewere footsteps behind him. Someone coughed quietly. Ichabod pulled his lips from Anabelle's with a faint sound as their moist lips lost contact. Leaning back on the stairs, with one hand still resting on Anabelle's waist, he looked over her should and a bright pink tone rose in his pale cheeks. He cleared his throat, and uttered only a few words.  
"Young...Masbeth...," he said slowly. Then, "Is it time for us to be...departing?"

Anabelle glanced from Ichobad to Young Masbeth. Both of their cheeks were flushed, and she knew her own were as well. In fact, she doubted she could discern who was more embarrassed in this situation, Rupert for walking in at an inopportune moment, herself for being caught kissing Ichobad, or Ichobad for kissing Anabelle and being discovered by Masbeth who knew how Ichobad loved Katrina...she shook her thoughts from her head, rising to her feet and holding out her hands for Ichobad.  
"You must let me know when you need rest," she squeezed his hands lightly as she teasingly grinned at him. "I'd hate to have to make that pain reliever again. It is rather...potent..."

Ten minutes later, Ichabod and Anabelle were making slow progress in their way to the city hall. The sky was turning grey, starting to darken as the evening approached. Ichabod knew they could not stay at the library for long, but he just needed to check a few books. Tomorrow..., he thought. Tomorrow we will get much more done.  
He glanced at Anabelle. She had her arm carefully about his waist, doing what she could to help him when he needed it. As of yet, they had not stopped for a break. Walking down the street, despite the cobbles, was much easier than descending the steep steps of the house. He frowned at the prospect of having to climb them again tonight, and tomorrow trooping down them once more.  
At last, they reached the steps that led to the huge, stone library. There were only about six stairs, but Ichabod peered at them as though it were a grand staircase in an opera house. He sighed, slowly extending his good foot to begin the ascent.

Anabelle tightened her hold around his waist, leaning in so only he would hear her words.  
"If you lean more on me, it will be an easier ascent," she looked up at him from beneath the arm he had strewn over her shoulder. "I'm positive I can bear more of your weight for six steps."  
She knew this was something he'd argue against, so she set her eyes with a determined gaze and did not blink once as he searched her deep brown eyes with his own. Finally she heard him sigh and lean slightly more against her.  
"I can bear more than that, Ichboad," she insisted, still keeping her tone low enough to disappoint any eavesdroppers.  
He leaned further into her frame and Anabelle nodded as they headed up the stairs. With a small jerk of her head, she indicated to the bench just inside the main doors. Night was falling and they could not sit long, but, try as he could to hide it, Anabelle could tell Ichobad needed a rest.  
"Perhaps we should refrain from sleeping upstairs," Anabelle suggested as she joined him on the bench. "I can get the chaise lounge from Nathaniel's house and we could easily tie the legs together and make a bed for the library," she offered, fiddling with her ring. "Actually I am inclined to think that you would like another particular chaise in Nathaniel's house. It has wheels."  
She paused as an elderly couple passed out of the library. Wedding banded fingers or not, somehow she thought they would say something about a constable's wife discussing the relocation of sleeping arrangements in public...and she was not going to get Ichobad into any more trouble.  
"If you like this idea, I will send word to Nathaniel's house and have the two delivered after we finish here."

The...chaise has wheels?" Ichabod asked, raising an eyebrow at her is mild surprise. "Why, what is the point of that?" He shook his head. It was hardly important, now, or ever, he supposed. Relief flooded through him at the prospect of being freed from climbing the stairs again.  
"Well, nevermind. Thank you..." He reached over and touched Anabelle's hand. "I do have the one chaise at home as well, in the library." He leaned closer to her, choosing to continue in a whisper. "Please feel welcome to remain upstairs, Anabelle. You might feel safer... But if you, in fact, feel safer...closer to me, that is fine too."

Anabelle laced her fingers with his, her eyes sparkling as she tried to refrain from kissing him in the library foyer.  
"There are so many things I feel when I'm close to you, Ichabod," she murmured. "Especially safe..."  
She paused to run her thumb over his.  
"Can we both fit on the one in your library though?" she asked. "I can send for the one at Nathaniel's and we could push them together if we needed more space," she could feel her cheeks flush at the tempting image of them tangled together on the library chaise.  
"And the one with wheels is available if you'd rather have one that I can move from place to place without needing assistance. It was something my father favored. Shortly after he arrived in the city, he began to have trouble walking and standing and had the chaise fitted with wheels."

"I see," Ichabod said. He smiled faintly. "And I would be honored to have you stay downstairs with me, of course. We will tie the two chaises together and try," he gave her a teasing look, "to give each other a barable amout of space." He paused, glancing around at Masbeth who was standing about ten feet away. "I shall close the sliding library door as well, and do my best to secure it. The large windows of that room make me nervous. They looks, but it would be all too easy for them to be broken, and we would be so close, with no stairs be-" He stopped and looked deeply into Anabelle's eyes again, his fingers tracing circles on the back of her hand. "We will be fine... The windows can be beautiful with the stars out..."

Anabelle stared back deeply into his eyes, her mind turning over the idea of watching the stars in the heavens pass through the sky with Ichobad's arms wrapped tenderly and securely around her, sharing those tender kisses that made her feel weak with longing, Ichabod increasing the passion behind his lips as he pressed them to hers before trailing over her neck and down her skin. A faint, hazy smile graced her lips and a small sigh escaped her, jolting her from her fantasy. She blushed hotly and turned her eyes to study Ichabod's shoes.  
"I suppose we should continue inside," she tried to hide her embarrassment and her wandering thoughts. "Are you well enough?"

Ichabod peered at her suspiciously, wondering what one earth she might have been thinking about that caused that reddish flush in her cheeks and the averted gaze. With an oddly brassy smile, he took her chin tween finger and thumb and turned her face to him.  
"Very well. You have...a way of making me simply smile. I cannot help but feel better." Shifting to grip the back of the bench, Ichabod stood carefully. he succeeded in rising on his own, and then looked down at Anabelle. "We daren't stay too long. Dark will fall, and I would rather not be out of the house when it does."

Anabelle watched as Ichabod stood before her without any assistance, a proud smile tugging at the corner of her lips. She rose also, setting her arm lightly around his waist, trying to look as inconspicious as she could. Ichabod may not mind her assistance, but she doubted he wanted it to be commonly known.  
"Where to first, sir?" she arched an eyebrow playfully up at him. "I await your requests."

"Ah, just in here and to the left..." He trailed off as he directed her to a section near the back. Once there, he released her shoulders and slowly limped up and down the aisles, running a single finger over the dusty notebooks and files. Finally it came to rest upon a leath bound folder with a few numbers printed in gold on the spine, that might have been a set of dates. Carefully, Ichabod slipped the volume from the shelf and limped over to a table, setting the folder down and then opening the cover. A thin layer of dust covered each page, and Ichabod did his best to blow them off as he flipped through it. He scratched his chin absently, thinking hard, then snapped the book shut and tucked it under his arm.  
Without a word to Anabelle, he hobbled away toward the opposite side of the library, leaning heavily on a few shelves as he went. He reached the new section, and without needing too much time to search this instance, he pulled and small leather bound book from a shef and tucked it into his arms, behind larger binder and out of sight from Anabelle so that she could not make out what it was.  
"I am finished," he said. "We can go, and tomorrow, we will take a trip to the city hall."

Anabelle nodded, slipping her arm back around his waist as he leaned against her. With Young Masbeth in tow, they left the library just as twilight had begun to fall.


	10. Drowning Sorrows

When Ichabod, Anabelle, and Masbeth reached the house, it had already grown dark out. The sun had disappeared below the city horizon, and the last fingers of pink and orange were fading from the sky, replaced by the deep blue-black of night. Ichabod was shaking a little as he sat heavily on one of the steps, having tired his knee much more than anticipated. He waved a hand as Masbeth tried to step forward and help.  
"No... No, young Masbeth. I'm fine. Please. You... you may go to bed." When the boy had left, Ichabod slowly looked around to Anabelle. "It's too late to get the chaise tonight. You sleep on the one in the library." He shifted slightly on the step, stretching out his leg carefully and setting down the folder and book he carried. "I shall just take a blanket and pillow and sleep on the floor. I will still be nearby, Ana, do not worry."

"No," Anabelle said lightly, shaking her head. "Why don't we just throw cushions about and sleep on the pillows. I've read about that sort of thing before and I'd rather not have you sleeping on the floor," she paused to gaze at the chaise. "Unless you think we can both fit on the chaise," she offered. "I wouldn't be opposed to that option either."  
Remembering her little tangent in the foyer of the library, a faint color rose to her cheeks, but this time she did not allow herself to glance away.

Ichabod, too, felt his face go hot as he looked fixedly up at Anabelle. She was willing to sleep on the chaise with him, and it was not a big chaise... But even that would be more comfortable for both of them than anything else. Deliberately, he nodded. His hands tightened into slight fist as he did so, and tried to keep notions of what may happen in that chaise tonight from creeping into his head.  
"Very well... We shall both sleep on the chaise for the night," he agreed. "I..." He paused, unsure of how to put this thought towards her. "If I... don't mind your space during sleep, Ana, please wake me up and I will move to some pillows on the floor. I don't want you to feel...uncomfortable."

"The only way I am going to feel uncomfortable is if I know you're sleeping on the hard floorboards while I'm on the chaise like some princess," Anabelle answered with a smile and set a kiss to his cheek. "Which we both know I am anything but..." she added with a low laugh.  
She rose to her feet, smoothing out the skirts of her dress.  
"I'll go fetch blankets," she offered. "Are you hungry? I don't believe we've eaten..."  
She worked over what they had in the kitchen in her mind. Young Masbeth had been simply wonderful to keep running all these errands for her; the lad had even seen to stocking the cupboards. _I simply must do something for him,_ Anabelle though. _He's done so much for Ichabod and me..._  
She caught herself smiling at that thought...  
_Ichabod and me..._  
With a shake of her head, she tossed the thought from her mind, sending her dark hair back over her shoulders, little purple marks visible on her neck. She waited for Ichabod's answer.

"I am feeling a bit...hungry, I suppose," Ichabod admitted shyly. Just then, his stomach gave a rather loud grumble that must have been easily heard by Anabelle, who still stood close. "Yes," he said. "Rather hungry, actually. Do you mind if I join you in the kitchen while you cook. I might just...sketch away the time, but if I make you self-conscious... I shall retire to the library to draw instead."

"No, come and keep me company," Anabelle smiled. She pondered some of the phrasing Ichabod had been using lately...to her it sounded like he was trying to discern whether she wanted him around or not. She bit down on the corner of her lower lip before holding her hands out to him, helping him to his feet. She must have exerted more force than she anticipated because she quickly found herself backed against the column that stood opposite the staircase, with Ichabod against her. Her eyes widened in surprise, but she couldn't say she minded this unexpected turn of events.   
Anabelle still held both his hands in hers, lacing their fingers as she pulled him even closer. Tilting her chin upwards, she barely touched her lips to his.  
"Ichabod," her voice came out in a whisper and her breath warm against his lips, "I love being near you, please don't doubt that. The more time I spend with you, the more time I want to spend with you... And being with you doesn't make me self-conscious...not in a bad way, at least. So, please, don't fret."  
That being said, Anabelle, with more gentleness than she knew she possessed, slowly brought her lips to his, pressing softly.

Ichabod's heart leapt into his throat at the sensations that flooded through him when she kissed him like that. He wanted to love her, be near to her, crumple up and throw away all of the doubts there might have been that he did not care for her. He was pleased to hear her say such things to him; and with all of the same tenderness, he claimed her lips. It was as if he had set a scientific analysis to them, slowly studying her lips with his own. After what seemed weeks of the soft and affectionate kiss, Ichabod pulled away, squeezing her hands.  
"I am glad to hear you say such things, Anabelle," he cooed against her lips. "I will no longer have need to worry. Rest assured that I... feel the same way." He smiled, pressing his lips to hers lightly again.

Anabelle smiled into his kiss, simply enjoying the effects his gentle touch had on her. Her breathing was slow and even, her entire body relaxed. She could not ever remember feeling so special, so loved...  
There it was again. The one word that kept forcing itself to the front of her mind with increasing frequency. For some reason, however, this time it did not bother her. In fact, she realized something very important there in the hallway...  
She loved Ichabod.  
Now was not the time to tell him, but it didn't keep her from smiling again against his lips as she gently freed one of her hands from his and ran it through his hair before coming to rest softly on his cheek as he continued to kiss her.

His fingers lingered on her shoulder for a second. Then they tickled down, over what could be seen of her collar bone from the seam of the dress she wore. His breathing slowed dangerously for a moment, his fingers braving further along her neckline and coming to rest just at the lowest point.

Anabelle's breath hitched in her throat as Ichabod touched her skin. His fingers sent shivers throughout her body, but she fought to keep these under control. The warmth from his fingertips felt too good against her flesh and she did not want to give him any reason to suddenly stop and be embarrassed.  
Still keeping her kiss as gentle as she could, she tangled her hand in his black hair, pulling him, if possible, even closer.

Ichabod, surprisingly, was the first one to increase the intensity of the kiss now. One hand remained lower, between her breasts, while they other ran up past her ear and into her dark hair. His fingers raked through it, and when it slipped from his fingers, it fell into her eyes, tickling both of their lips. In the next swipe through her hair, Ichabod pulled it back again, into the main mass of her hair.

Although she was trying her hardest to fight it, Anabelle let a small moan escape her lips as Ichabod's fingers tangled in her hair. She took a deep breath, causing the hand he let rest on her chest to rise and fall with her breathing.  
Still not wanting him to pull away, Anabelle closed one of her hands around the one he had resting on her chest, simply keeping it there. Her other hand slipped from his hair, gently gripping the side of his neck as she parted her lips across his.

Ichabod felt her press his hand closer to her chest. He smiled; he wanted so much more from her, but the last thing he wished to do was pressure her. His hand left her dark brown locks and slipped under her arm. His fingers trailed lazily down her back, coming to rest just on her tail bone. He did not exactly pulled her closer, just held her there, lips slowly working hers.

The slowness of his lips was driving her mad...She could feel his fingers brushing against the skin of her breasts, even as her own held him there. As his other hand drifted down her back, holding her against him, she felt herself tremble lightly in his arms. Vaguely she remembered something about dinner and his sketchbook, but that seemed days ago now...  
They should stop before things got out of hand.  
She didn't want to stop his hands...  
A loud banging on the door made her jump.

Ichabod stared in surprise. His lips parted from Anabelle's and he stumbled sideways. He would have toppled completely over, had he not been able to catch himself, half on the pillar and half on Anabelle. He let out a low sigh, both in relief at not having fallen, but also as a means to release the odd tension that had built up in him during the kiss. It had almost been as if he had been holding his breath, which, now that he thought on it, maybe he had been. Regardless, now he glared at the door, rather aggravated.  
"Yes?" he called, voice cracking a little bit. "Who is it?"

Anabelle's eyes had opened quickly when Ichabod stumbled. Whoever was at the door had startled them both badly.   
"Sir, it's Masbeth," came the familiar voice from the opposite side of the door.  
Anabelle closed her eyes in relief, leaning her head back against the pillar, her eyes closed. Taking deep breaths, she tried to calm her racing heart...its rapid beating had been caused by Ichabod's touch. She could still feel the touch of his lips to hers and the warmth of his hands. Thinking on it sent a shiver through her.  
She felt Ichabod's hand close around hers and she looked up to meet his eyes. Letting him pull her into the hallway, they made their way to the door.  
Young Masbeth stood in the glow of the lantern with a strange mixture of nervousness and...was that relief?...on his face.  
Anabelle looked curiously from Masbeth to Ichabod then back to Masbeth.  
"Sir, the magistrate's dead..."

Ichabod stopped in his tracks, gawking at the young man in the hallway.  
"Dead," he uttered blankly. "Dead?" He could barely say anything else. Dumbstruck, he looked to Anabelle. Deep inside, he felt an ecstatic happiness coursing through him at the news, but... what had happened? Was there any danger, immediately, to them? Thinking hard, he looked to Masbeth again.  
"What on earth happened? Surely not the..."  
"Not the Horseman, no, sir. It's a total coincidence, weird, too. Stupid bloke." Masbeth shook his head. "He got drunk, stumbled out into the road and got hit by a carriage. Well, as you can imagine, the man's so fat he just sort of bounced off of it, but stumbled and hit his head. Got knocked unconscious. He...well, he drowned in a puddle made by some melted snow on the side of the road." Ichabod sighed with relief. It had nothing to do with the case, everyone knew it had only been an accident.  
"Well... what other news?"  
"Only this, sir; that the mortician is a sort of in a pickle as to what to do with the body. When I left, they were trying to squeeze it into a transport carriage. It was," he paused guiltily, "sort of amusing, really. And to tell you the truth, his wife did not seem all too upset. She wasn't crying, or anything."

A soft snort escaped Anabelle who was desperately trying not to laugh. Someone had just died...granted she never liked the gluttonous mass, but that was no excuse to laugh. She put the back of her hand to her mouth, biting down on the knuckle of her middle finger, holding her breath to keep from bursting out in a fit of laughter. Her shoulders started to shake and her eyes were completely betraying the amusement she was trying so hard to keep bottled up.  
_That fat cow finally got his..._  
At least he would be leaving her and Ichabod alone.  
She could feel questioning eyes staring at her, and looked up to meet Ichabod's deep brown eyes. She felt a tug at the hand she had to her mouth, his fingers trying to pull hers away. Anabelle stopped biting down on her knuckle long enough to whisper.  
"If you pull my hand away, I will not be able to keep from laughing."  
Somehow she could tell Ichabod wanted to laugh too. Masbeth hid a snicker in the sleeve of his coat.  
Suddenly Anabelle couldn't dam up her amusement anymore. She turned her head into Ichabod's shoulder, her arm wrapping around his waist and laughed until she thought she would cry. Unfortunately this set Masbeth off, and if she wasn't mistaken, Ichabod even joined in softly, his hand wrapping low around her waist.  
Finally she managed to get herself under some semblance of control and reached inside her pocket, tossing a small bag to Young Masbeth.  
"Rupert, run off to the nearest merchant you can and get us a flask of brandy...a small one...tonight we drown our sorrows for the magistrate. Dinner will be ready by the time you return."  
With a theatrical bow and a broad smile, Young Masbeth was off.  
Anabelle tilted her chin to meet Ichabod's eyes.   
"Don't worry," she put her finger to his lips as he parted them to protest. "You only get one glass."  
She watched her finger trail over his lips before softly replacing it with her lips.

Later that evening, Ichabod sat at the table with the company of both Anabelle and Masbeth. They were talking and laughing; drowning their sorrows, as Anabelle had called it. True to her promise, Anabelle had only permitted Ichabod one tumbler of the brandy that Masbeth had fetched. He still had not drained the miniature glass, though Masbeth had poured his second, and Anabelle had finished off one. Ichabod kept caution, not wanting to get himself drunk and put Anabelle in another compromising position. At one moment, there came a short lull in conversation. Ichabod, finished with his meal, leant back in his seat, leg stretched out carefully before him beneath the table. He sighed; it was getting late and he wanted to wake early to take a trip to the city hall. With a glance to the young woman seated in the chair beside him, he cleared his throat.  
"I fear we are celebrating into much too late an hour, Anabelle, Masbeth," he addressed them both. "While I am glad the magistrate, the blubbering fool, is no longer a pest, I don't believe we should lose sleep in rejoicing." He smiled, making to stand and leaving his half-full glass where it sat. "Young Masbeth, please, goodnight. I will see you bright and early in the morning. We will visit the city hall tomorrow."

Anabelle walked Masbeth to the door. Although dinner had been quite a fun event, she was getting rather tired and the idea of curling up with Ichabod on the library chaise sounded more and more inviting as the minutes progressed. She waved to Masbeth as he headed off towards his lodgings. With a small sigh she closed the door, placing her palm flat against the center and leaning her forehead against her hand. Quietly she muttered a phrase she learnt long ago from her mother, recalling with a smile how the woman used to say this each night when the family was all finally home. She stepped away from the door with a small smile on her lips and headed towards the kitchen when movement in the library caught her eye.   
_Ichabod is certainly managing to get around with more ease,_ she thought as she watched him set blankets on the edge of the chaise before turning to see her.  
"If you'll allow me a moment or two, I'll have the dishes finished," she said, fiddling with her ring.  
Her hand was stilled by another softly enveloping it and she looked up into irresistible deep brown eyes that clearly told her the dishes could wait.

"Come rest and sleep, Ana," Ichabod whisper, looking down at he with gleaming eyes. He was in a rather good mood, but knew sleep would do them both a world of good. "Today was a busy one; you did quite a few things... Now it is time for bed. The dishes are not an urgent matter, so let's save them for the morning. Come." He pulled her towards the chaise gently.

His tone was so warm, so inviting...Anabelle couldn't help but smile and do as he asked, letting him pull her toward the chaise and then gently down beside him.

Ichabod encircled her waist with his arms, pulling her onto his lap quickly and setting a soft kiss to her neck. His hands inched down her shoulders again; one slid low onto her back, while the other, more bold, brushed over her collarbone and chest. He looked down at her bosom, heaving, as her corset constricted which direction her chest and lungs could expand. A frown replaced the weariness on his face, his head shaking in disbelief.  
"That must be horrid to sleep in," he said, his voice just over a whisper. "Would you prefer to..." He rested his hand on the corset stays, looking her full in the face and fighting the blush that started to take over his cheeks again.

Anabelle closed her eyes and rested her forehead against his, holding his face in her hands.  
"Only if you wouldn't mind," she answered, her own voice hushed. "Otherwise it's not so unbearable. I don't lace them that tightly."  
She could feel his fingers begin to tug gently at her corset strings. Anabelle slipped her arms very loosely around his neck, resting her head in the crook where his neck met his shoulder, taking several deep breaths.

"A useful bit of information to have," Ichabod said before he could stop himself. He offered her a slight smile as the last tie of the corset was loosened. Slowly, he worked the strong garment up and over her frame, setting it aside, taking in what lay beneath. For a minute, Ichabod could only stare at her form through the thin chemise she wore. His breathing was slow and steady, but his eyes, those dark brown eyes, were alight with emotion. He leaned in, placing a soft kiss to her lower lip and then one to her chin. Then he sat back and slid down, lying on his side against the single arm or the chaise, patting the space beside him.  
"If, during the night, you get uncomfortable with...anything, wake me. I do mean it, Ana."

Anabelle pressed a kiss to his lips with a little more pressure than her kiss usually held. Then she followed his lead, lying back against the chaise, pulling close to him. His body was so warm, making her feel so relaxed and comfortable.  
She felt his arm wrap around her, lightly holding her to him. Anabelle let out a low laugh.  
"If comfort is the case, I doubt I shall have any reason to wake you," she teased him, trailing her fingers across the arm that held her close. "In fact, I think you will have a difficult time trying to get me to quit this chaise in the morning."

Ichabod laughed lightly, his grip around her waist tightening as he pulled her closer to him.  
"That's not necessarily a bad thing," he replied, smiling still. His head tilted forward, so that his forehead rested against her shoulder. "We all deserve a sleep-in once in a while, if not every day. Well, almost all of us..." He chuckled. "I do wonder who will get the job as magistrate now. With luck, he will be considerably more competent."

"Judging by the last person they chose, that should not be a difficult requirement to fulfill..." Anabelle murmured as her breathing began to level off with sleep. "And preferably less of a drunkard, but perhaps that is too much to be wished for..."  
She shifted in his arms, causing the hem of her chemise to push up exposing a portion of her skin along her abdomen. She felt Ichabod's fingers lightly brush over her skin, causing her to emit a small noise and a sleepy smile to grace her lips as her eyelids fell closed.


End file.
